


MY BOYS

by SupernaturallyEgocentric



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:45:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturallyEgocentric/pseuds/SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam & Dean have left John, because John wants to kill Sam. Demon blood, you know. Plus, John's a teensy bit mad about the whole incest thing. Continuing series which started with "Don't Move". Rated for sex, violence and language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CHOICES

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"Sam?"

Sam spun around to face his father, hazel eyes wide and shocked.

John looked at the duffel slung over his son's shoulder. "Where you going?"

"What are you doing here?" Sam gasped.

"Hunt turned out to be a false alarm," John said, frowning, not missing the fact that Sam hadn't answered him. "Where are you going?"

Sam couldn't think of a single lie that his father would believe. Dropping the duffel, he ran for the front door, his father close behind him.

John caught him at the door. Sam tried to get around him, go for the kitchen door, but, cursing, John cuffed him on the side of the head, grabbed him by the arm and slammed him up against the door. "Knock it off!"

Panicking, Sam tried to jerk away from his father's hard hands. "Let me go!"

"Not until you calm down." John barked. His dark eyes were cold. "What the hell is going on?"

"Let me go."

"Where?" John said sharply. "Why?"

Sam looked into his father's eyes, saw both the man he'd loved and a man he feared deeply. "Where doesn't matter. And - " he hesitated, then took the plunge - "you know why."

John's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his son's arm.

Heart pounding at the look in his father's eyes, Sam tried again. "Let me go."

John ignored him, jerking him away from the door and pulling him back toward the kitchen.

Frantic now, Sam struggled harder, finally managing to tear himself out of John's hands. Growling, the big man hit him again and Sam lost his balance, falling to the floor.

John reached down to pull him up, his face set and angry and Sam pulled his .45 out of his jacket.

"Don't you fucking touch me!"

John gaped at the gun. "Son -"

"Don't call me that! Get back!"

Seeing the way the gun was shaking in his terrified son's hands, John took a couple of steps back, watched as Sam rose. "We need to talk."

Sam shook his head fiercely. "There's nothing to talk about. Not anymore. " He gestured to the couch. "Go sit down."

John didn't move.

"Now!"

Cautiously eying the gun, John backed up until the back of his legs hit the worn couch, dropped down onto it.

"I know what you were planning," Sam said furiously. "I know."

"You don't know a damned thing," John answered warily. "You're sick, you must be to point a gun at your own father."

"You liar!" Sam spat. "How were you going to explain it to Dean? 'Sorry, son, Sammy just didn't work out. Gimme a minute while I put a bullet in his head?'"

Shocked, John stammered, "Sam, I would never -"

"Don't lie!" Sam screamed.

The kitchen door slammed and Dean's voice called out. "Hey, Dad! You back already?"

Sam turned white. Oh God, no, not this. I don't want to tell him, please I don't want to tell him.

Dean appeared in the doorway, grinning. His grin vanished when he saw Sam pointing a gun at their father. "Sam?"

Relieved, John started up from the couch. "Dean -"

"Stay there!" Sam warned him, breathing ragged, and his father dropped back down, scowling. "I don't want to shoot you, but I will!"

"Sam?" Dean's eyes tracked between his father and brother, fastened on his seemingly hysterical brother. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam looked at him pleadingly. "Dean –"

"He's leaving," John said bluntly.

"What?" All the color left Dean's face. His green eyes were stricken, voice shaking. "Sammy, no."

Sam's mouth trembled. "Dean - I - please."

"Sam, why? I don't understand –"

"It doesn't matter why he's leaving, Dean," John interrupted. "You can't let him. You need to get hold of this situation right now."

Dean waved his father to silence. "Sam, tell me what's wrong -"

"Dean -" John started to stand again.

Sam fired a shot into the floor at John's feet. Dean cried out and the older man fell back onto the couch with a curse. "Are you insane?" he cried. "What are you doing, son?"

The smell of cordite was thick in the air. "Don't call me that!" Sam said tightly. "I'm not your son. Not anymore."

"Sam, what the fuck!" Dean said furiously. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam laughed wildly. "A lot! Nothing I can fix, that's for sure." Dean sighed and Sam's eyes darkened with pain. "Yeah, I know, same old shit, huh? Sick of it, aren't you? Sick of me."

Dean looked at him, shook his head. "No, Sam. Not sick of you." Their eyes locked and Sam's throat tightened. He looked away with difficulty, glared at his father. "It's not my fault that Mom died."

John glared at him. "Don't you talk about her."

Flabbergasted, Dean said, "Dad, what - Sam, it wasn't your fault, why would you think –"

"Dad thinks that!"

"That's not true," Dean protested. "I don't know where you're getting this, Sammy, it's crazy. Put the gun down, we can talk about it, figure it out –"

"Just take the damned gun away from him, Dean!" John yelled angrily. "He won't shoot you, get over there and -"

"Damn it, the demon told me everything!" Sam shouted desperately into the chaos.

"What?" Both John and Dean spoke together.

Sam's breathing was fast, eyes fastened imploringly on his brother. "He's been coming to me in my dreams the last few weeks. He showed me what happened. He fed me his blood the night Mom died. Demon blood!"

Dean stared at him, horrified, and Sam's heart broke. Oh God. He hates me now. I knew it. I knew it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. The pistol wavered.

John started to rise and Sam jerked the gun back onto him. "Don't you fucking move!" he warned, finger twitching spasmodically on the trigger.

"I don't understand," Dean stammered. "Why - demon blood? Why?"

"It's not just me." Sam swallowed. "He did the same thing to lots of other kids." A single tear ran down his cheek. "We're his weapons; some kind of stupid evil army." He shook his head. "God, that sounds so crazy."

"That's because it is crazy, Sam," Dean said impatiently. "That demon is playing you, trying to freak you out. Besides, that doesn't explain why you're trying to leave. And the gun."

Sam's eyes were bleak. "The demon told me – Dad's going to kill me."

"Demons lie, Sam!" Dean said, outraged. "Dad would never hurt you. Never!"

"That's what I thought." Sam looked bitterly at John. "Then he told me about Dad's secret journal."

John flinched.

"What secret journal?" Dean asked, baffled. "I've never seen –"

"Secret journal, Dean." "I found it in his truck before he left last night." With his free hand he dug into his jacket pocket, took out a small, black notebook and tossed it in Dean's direction.

Dean snagged it in mid-air, looking at it curiously before looking at his father. John kept his eyes on his youngest son, on the gun.

"Turn to the last entry," Sam said. He looked at John, lost love and rage battling in his heart for ascendance.

Dean thumbed the notebook open. Hands trembling, he read the last entry. Re-read it. He looked at his father disbelievingly. "Dad?"

John looked at his lieutenant stonily. "Dean, you have to understand. This isn't something I want to do. Sam is my son. I love him, just as much as I love you."

Sam laughed; it turned into a ragged sob. "Yeah, right. You fucking liar. God, I hate you for this. Why couldn't you believe in me? Why couldn't you love - " Heart shredded, he looked away from his father's rigid face, drew a deep breath.

I can't take much more of this. Of him.

"I have two choices," Sam said to Dean. "Leave, or die."

Dean shuddered at the desolate look in Sam's eyes, the shaking gun. "Don't. Don't."

Sam tried to smile, failed miserably. "it's been bad for a long time. No matter what I do, it's never good enough and it never will be. He's always watching me, waiting for me to turn. And now that I know . . ." He shrugged, fought himself back to a shaky semblance of control. "I'm sorry, brother."

Dean took a quick step forward, eyes. "Sam." When his brother stumbled back a step, Dean stopped. "Sam," he said pleadingly. "Baby, please."

John looked at Dean, confused. Baby?

Shaking, Sam said, "I would never let myself be used by that demon, no matter what Dad thinks."

"I know you wouldn't, Sam." Dean moved forward again, desperate to get the gun away from him, to take that defeated look out of his eyes. "I raised you."

Tears spilling over, not wanting to hope, but unable to stop himself, Sam let his brother, his lover, approach.

John watched closely, ready to make his move.

Sam saw John's eyes, knew he thought that Dean would back him - Dad's good little soldier. And maybe he would.

Close now, Dean put a hand on Sam's arm, touched his cheek gently.

Sam stared into his heart's eyes and a kaleidoscope of memories filled him, warmed him – Dean holding his hand on the way to school; Dean bathing him, tucking him into bed at night. Teaching him to shoot, sparring with him. Teasing, smiling, laughing. Staring into his eyes with love and lust. Fucking him, loving him.

And always - always - standing between him and danger.

The hell with it. If Dean could betray him, Sam wanted to be dead anyway.

He let Dean take the gun.

John surged up off the couch, dark eyes burning with satisfaction, which lasted just until Dean swung around and stuck the .45 into his father's face.

"You son-of-a-bitch! You were going to kill him?"

Looking into Dean's furious eyes, John knew he'd somehow seriously misjudged the situation. Knew he was in even more danger now than when Sam had the gun.

"Dean, you know what's at stake," he forced out. "It's not just Sam's life. It's six billion people. It's the world."

Dean looked into Sam's eyes, then back at his father. "Fuck the world." He shoved John roughly back onto the couch.

Then, his father watching, Dean pulled Sam to him and kissed him - tender, ardent and possessive.

No more hiding, not from anyone.

John's mouth dropped open; his eyes filled with horror.

Trembling violently, Sam clutched at Dean's shoulders, relief, love and terror storming through him.

Dean smiled at him. "Hold it together, baby. We're not out of here yet."

Sam looked at John. The man's face was livid with rage as he stared at his sons. "He'll follow us."

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Dean said reassuringly. "I'm not letting him hurt you."

Sam smiled. The sweetness of it almost brought Dean to his knees. He kissed him again, lightly. "Go to our room, pack up my stuff, and anything of yours you don't already have. Go on, hurry!" Sam nodded and ran from the room. "Don't forget the sawed-off in the closet!"

Beyond caution now, John roared up from the couch. "What the hell? How long have you been fucking that little bastard?"

"Dad -"

"Is a little ass all it took to make you forget who you are? What you are?"

"Shut up, Dad!" Dean gritted out warningly.

"God damn it!' John hissed virulently. "I should have killed that boy when he was born, before he infected you with his poison."

Dean slammed the gun hard into his father's head, dropping him unconscious and bleeding to the floor. "I guess you'll shut up now, you crazy bastard," he said coldly.

Two minutes later, Sam came quickly back into the room, Dean's duffel in one hand and the sawed-off in the other, boxes of cartridges bulging from his jacket pockets. After one quick glance, he didn't look at his father again "Anything else?"

"Got a knife?"

Sam made a face, pulled a knife out of his boot. "Duh."

Dean grinned, gave Sam the keys to the Impala. "Smart ass. Put our stuff in the car. Then take care of his tires. I'll be out in a minute."

When Dean came out, John's truck was sitting on four rapidly deflating tires and the Impala was idling, Sam waiting anxiously in the front seat.

Sam scooted across the seat to him and hugged his brother tightly, breathing in the familiar scents of leather, tobacco, sweat - deanmydean.

"Listen, Sam -"

Sam interrupted him quickly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

"Hey, I get it, I do," Dean reassured him. "We're good. But the next time a psychotic asshole tries to kill you, let me know, okay?"

"Okay." Sam looked back at the house. "Um . . ."

"Hog-tied," Dean said matter-of-factly. "Take him a couple hours to get out of it."

"Good," Sam said, relieved.

Dean guided the Impala out of the parking lot and they merged into traffic.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

Dean looked over at him, smiling faintly. "Does it matter?"

Hazel eyes gazed into green. "Not one damned bit."


	2. JUST A LITTLE FRIENDLY TORTURE

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Dean watched as Sam's tongue chased the dripping ice cream up and down the cone. They were in Savannah, Georgia - damned hot - and the kid was spending more time doing damage control to the cone than he was eating the damned ice cream. And driving Dean freaking crazy while he was at it.

Dean sighed, looked at the Impala, the street, the other cars in the parking lot, the eighteen gazillion kids coming in and out of the Dairy Queen - anything to avoid looking at his brother. Sam's tongue flicking up and down the cone was doing wonderful things to his dick. If he didn't stop, the Dairy Queen was going to get a free show, of the X-rated variety.

Sam smiled at him, ice cream smearing his mouth. "You want some?"

Dean snapped. He grabbed the cone out of his little brother's hand and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.

"Dude!" Sam cried indignantly. "What the hell!"

Dean growled and grabbed Sam by the shirt, pulled him in close and licked the excess ice cream from around his mouth.

Sam snorted with laughter. "Dean, you could have gotten your own cone."

Dean kissed him. "Tastes better this way," he murmured. He pressed Sam back against the car, kissed him again, tongue roving in and around his mouth.

Sighing happily, Sam rubbed up against him, snaking a hand around to grab Dean's ass. Screw the cone.

One long, very hot minute later, there was a raucous yell from a car passing by on the street. "Hey, get a room!"

The brothers broke apart, laughing a little.

"Horny bastard," Sam said breathlessly.

Dean shot him the bird. "Right back at you. Good idea, though."

"What?"

"A room, doofus." Dean grinned. "With a really big bed."

"I thought you wanted to get to Tampa tonight?"

"Oh - yeah."

"Zombies?" Sam prompted him.

"Hmm."

"Dean, zombies. You love killing zombies!"

"Easy kills," Dean said nostalgically. "Yeah. Okay. Tampa."

He looked at his watch. "It's a four, maybe five hour drive. We leave now, we should get there about six o'clock."

"Sounds good."

As they climbed into the Impala, Sam pulled a couple of napkins out of the glove box, wiped away the last of the ice cream and Dean tongue. "You owe me a cone, jerk."

"I'll work it off." Dean started the Impala.

"Oh, yeah?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

Dean gave him a scorching look. "Yeah."

A little shiver of anticipation ran over Sam, but he sighed, made his eyes puppy-dog sad. "I don't know, man, that was a pretty tasty freaking cone. French vanilla."

"My cone is pretty freaking tasty, too," Dean answered, grinning, and Sam hooted with laughter.

(((((((((())))))))))

Two hours later, Sam was snoozing contentedly, slumped against Dean, his big brother's arm wrapped around him as they drove down Interstate 75 toward Florida.

It was just over four weeks since they'd left their father and Dean was happy, more happy than he'd been in - well, for longer than he could remember. Sam, too. That tense look was starting to leave him, the one that said he was waiting for the next shit storm to hit - the next move to a strange town, the next bitchy comment from Dad, the next monster to crawl up his ass.

He was starting to look, and act, a little more like the teenager he was. A teenager with a genius brain, phenomenal hunting skills and a little problem with demon blood, yeah, but, basically, still a kid.

The whole John as Sam's future murderer deal? Dean couldn't let himself think about that too much, not yet. The wound was still too fresh.

The man he'd loved, worshipped, for his entire life, wanted to kill his brother - the boy he'd loved, cared for, defended, since the day his parents brought him home from the hospital.

It made no fucking sense. What had changed? What had changed John? Sam's demon blood? No. According to the journal, Dad had found out about that only about three years ago. He'd been down on Sam a hell of a lot longer than that.

Maybe it really did go back to Mom's death.

John had changed back then, Dean had watched it happen. Seeing a loved one die like that, finding out the creepy crawlies in the closet were real and out to get you - shit, you change or freaking die.

But enough to make you believe that killing your son is not only necessary but reasonable?

Crazy.

Aside from that hairball, there was an even bigger question. Would Dean kill their father to protect Sam?

Nope. Not going there. Not today.

The Winchester boys would run. Hunt and run. Stay under their dad's radar. Stay alive.

Someday, they'd have to deal with the 'problem' of John.

And the goddamned demon.

Someday. But not today.

He glanced down at his sleeping brother, kissed the top of his shaggy head. And drove on.

(((((((((())))))))))

The blare of an air horn from a semi-truck startled Sam awake and he jerked upright, staring around in confusion.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said.

"Hey." Sam yawned. "How much longer?"

"Couple hours."

"Oh." There was a definite disappointed tone to his voice and Dean's brow creased. "What's wrong?"

Sam shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just kind of hungry." As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly and he blushed.

Dean laughed. "So I hear."

"Yeah, well, someone stole my ice cream cone," Sam snarked.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch. " Dean shot back. "Can you wait until Tampa?"

Sam's face fell and big brother relented. "I saw a sign for Cracker Barrel a couple minutes ago. How's that sound?"

Sam's stomach growled again. "Sounds great."

"Good. Gotta get you filled up. 'Cause you know, now I think about it, all that growling might get a little distracting tonight."

"What, with the zombies?" Sam asked, confused.

"No, after the zombies."

Oh. "Why?" Sam asked, playing dumb.

Dean shot a sideways glance at him. "Well, after we off the zombies, I'm planning to suck your cock until you can't breathe," he said casually.

Sam's jaw dropped. "Oh . . ." he managed, finally. "Really?"

"Yep. Then I'm gonna fuck your ass so hard you won't be able to walk for a week."

Sam gasped, the words going straight to his dick, making it stand at attention.

Dean laughed out loud at the pole-axed expression on his brother's face.

"Good plan," Sam said in a stifled voice.

Dean chuckling to himself, they drove on for another couple of miles

"Uh, Dean, how far did you say to that Cracker Barrel?"

"Fifteen miles, maybe. Why?"

Sam nodded, considering. "Yeah, that should be long enough."

Suspicious, Dean frowned. "Long enough for what?"

Snake-quick, Sam's hand flashed down and unzipped Dean's jeans, ignoring his exclamation of surprise. Reaching inside his brother's boxers, he closed his big hand around his dick, brought it out of hiding with a gentle pull and twist.

Sam laughed as the Impala swerved, then steadied.

"Knock it off, Sammy," Dean yelped, "before I wreck the fucking car!"

"Really?" Sam asked softly, eyes glinting wickedly. "You want me to stop?"

Watching Dean's face, Sam spat into his hand, then grasped again at his brother's rapidly stiffening member, pumping it adroitly up and down, giving an extra circling twist at the top of the movement, rubbing his thumb just underneath the top of the head.

"Oh, shit!" Dean gave a soft groan, arching away from the seat. He spread his legs to give Sam better access and the Impala lurched a little as Dean's foot momentarily slipped off the gas.

Sam laughed with excitement, hand quickening its movement on Dean's cock. "I don't know, Dean. You look like you're having a pretty good time. You sure you want me to stop?"

"You stop I'll fucking kill you!" Dean groaned. "That's it, Sam, oh man, you got it, that's it. Oh Jesus, Sammy, don't stop . . ."

His brother fully erect now, Sam grunted with satisfaction and slid down on the seat, letting his long legs slip down onto the floor. Breathing fast, face flushed with anticipation, he planted his face in Dean's lap and sucked the tip of his leaking dick into his mouth.

"Hmm." Sam licked it like he'd licked the ice cream cone, knowing Dean's eyes were on his tongue, knowing he'd made the cone connection when Dean let out a laughing moan. "You were right, Dean. Tasty."

Sam grinned up at him (Heh!), then dive-bombed, taking Dean's cock all the way in, the head scraping the roof of his mouth, then moving back to nudge the back of his throat. Dean choked, gasping for air and Sam's mouth, warm and wet, busily sucked up and down his brother's jerking length, wet fingers rolling Dean's warm, tightening balls, Sam sighing, moaning, the sounds driving Dean higher, harder - Dean, goddamn, I love your fucking dick!

Cursing, panting, trying to keep at least part of his upper brain on the road, Dean watched Sam work, sweet-assed boy fucking his soft mouth up and down on his big brother's stiff cock, his fingers kneading the base of the Dean's shaft, his balls, Sam's hazel eyes hot and fierce with need and love.

Dean reached out, ran his free hand through Sam's hair, traced his fingers over his brother's lips, tight around his cock. "Baby," he breathed softly, arching up, shuddering, struggling to keep the Impala steady as Sam's mouth stripped him of all control. "Baby." 

Sam gave an answering moan, his own cock throbbing, straining inside his jeans, balls tight and throbbing, begging for release. He pulled Dean's hips closer, dug his nails in, sucked Dean's dick, wet and sloppy, tongue flicking the sides, digging into it, teeth scraping rough and dirty, urgent - more, need more, gimme more more more -

Sam was gone, his whole world his brother's cock, the taste of pre-come filling his mouth, the smell of sex, Dean's hips thrusting, his lover's voice a hoarse, growling rasp. "That's it, Sammy, God, that's it, oh you fucking bitch, oh shit oh shit oh shit . . . "

Gasping now, almost sobbing, Dean grabbed Sammy's head, pushing him down, down, onto his throbbing, weeping dick, groaning as Sam whimpered and moaned and dug his tongue ruthlessly into the leaking slit of Dean's dick, the Impala moving in little orgasmic jerks back and forth across their lane, almost slamming into a car as it roared past them, horn blaring.

"Oh, fuck me! Fuck!" Dean howled.

The Impala swerved across the road, skidding to a gravel scattering halt on the shoulder. Dean shoved her into park, then twisted both hands in Sam's hair, holding him tight, fucking up into his mouth, cursing, yelling, coming with a hoarse scream. Sam frantically sucking, swallowing his brother's thick white cum - Dean Dean Dean Dean - the name a promise, a prayer, filling him with triumph, desperate love - my Dean. Mine, mine, you fuckers, mine!

"Sam!"

The last of his orgasm juddering out of him, Dean groaned and fell against the seat, head back, gasping for air; shaking hands loosening on his baby's head, stroking his hair, comforting, loving him.

His own cock aching, nerves thrumming, Sam swallowed the last of Dean's cum and licked his dick clean, then tucked it gently back into his boxers and zipped him up.

"Sam. Love you, baby, love you." Dean pulled his brother up and kissed him fervently, the taste of his own cum mixing with the sweet taste of Sammy's mouth. After a minute, Sam moved away.

Dean pulled him back, ran his hands under Sam's shirt, stroking, kneading, covered his mouth, sucking Sam's tongue until the boy moaned with need.

"I'll take care of you, Sammy," Dean whispered, hand falling to the boy's zipper.

"No!" Sam jerked away, dark hair falling across his face, lips swollen, eyes luminous. He scooted to the other side of the car, leaning back against the passenger door, and put his hand on his dick, groaning at the sensation of harsh denim against swollen, irritated flesh.

Eyes dark with arousal, Dean leaned forward, reaching out again.

"Let me," he rasped.

Sam slapped his hand away, then scratched his nails across the denim covering his dick, stroked it through his jeans, shuddering. "The next time you touch me," he said thickly, "I want you to be fucking me."

Dean licked his lips, eyes fixed on his young brother's busy hands.

"No lube, Dean."

Sam pulled his shirt up, scored his nails across his nipples, twisting the nubs until they burned.

"Just your tongue. Your cock." He ran a hand down his tight belly, stroked lightly. "And my ass."

Dean drew in a sharp breath.

Sam slipped a hand into his jeans, touched himself, gasped. "Shouldn't you be driving?"

Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, Dean turned away from him, grabbed hold of the steering wheel, fought for control.

Once he had it nocked, Dean spoke softly, dangerously. "Sammy?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Remember I said you won't be able to walk for a week?"

"Uh huh?"

"Make that two weeks."


	3. MISCALCULATION

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"They're not zombies!" Sam hissed. "They're freaking ghouls!"

"Doesn't matter," Dean answered, hands tightening on his gun. "Head shots and decapitation still works." He grinned. "Decapitation. Awesome."

They kept their voices down, watching as the tainted creatures walked through the hushed, moon-lit cemetery.

"This explains how they've been able to keep hidden for so long," Dean said. "Bastards are a hell of a lot smarter than zombies."

"Yeah, but Dean, ghouls usually just eat the dead. Why are they killing people?" Sam motioned to the hundreds of tombstones around them. "It's not like there's any shortage of corpses around here."

Dean shrugged. The why of things was never as interesting to him as it was to his curious little brother. "Maybe they got tired of the taste of formaldehyde."

"Formaldehyde can get you high," Sam said matter-of-factly.

"God, you're such a geek," Dean laughed, then looked at his brother, frowning. "Wait a minute, how do you know that?"

"Someone at school tried to sell me a joint laced with it once."

"No shit?"

"No shit." Sam shrugged. "But I read it destroys your brain cells, so . . ."

"Huh." People. "Stick with booze, baby brother." He checked his gun. "Okay, let's get this shit done. After all, we've got plans tonight."

Distracted by the approaching monsters, now just twenty feet away, Sam looked at his brother questioningly.

Dean's green eyes danced. "My cock, your ass?"

(((((((((())))))))))

Sam's eyes widened.

"Dean, behind you!"

Dean spun and swung. The ghoul's head flew off its shoulders, falling to the grass and rolling.

"Thanks."

Sam didn't bother to answer, just gave a short nod of acknowledgement, then recounted the bodies, matching the heads, making sure they'd gotten them all.

Count satisfied, spattered with blood and soaked with sweat, the two brothers stood panting, trying to pull enough oxygen out of the thick humid air not to pass out before starting their ghoul bonfire.

Dean hawked harshly and spat on the ground. "I hate fucking Florida," he announced.

Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You love the beach."

"This isn't the beach," Dean retorted. "It's too damned hot. It's like breathing soup!" He stretched his shoulders out, grimacing. "I almost dislocated my shoulder on that last one. Big bastard."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Sam leaned over to wipe the blade of his machete on the grass. "At least there weren't too many of them."

"Yeah." Dean frowned, looking at the corpses surrounding them. "I was kind of expecting more than five, with the amount of damage they've been doing."

Sam pulled a bottle of water out of his pack, drank deeply and passed it to his brother. "Let's take a breath. Then we can take a look around, see if we missed anything."

On cue, a wrenching scream rose and the brothers jerked around.

"Crap!" Dean dropped the water and they ran toward the continuing, and horrific, screams.

They were too late.

When they hit the cemetery's parking lot, a group of seven ghouls were crouched over the bloody and, now, silent bodies of two teenagers, a boy and a girl.

They'd clearly been torn out of the lime-green Datsun idling nearby, killed, and were now serving as dinner to the slavering monsters.

"No!"

Enraged, Dean rushed forward and dispatched two of them with head shots before the other five even looked up from their meal. Right behind him, Sam took the head of a little old lady with a bloodstained mouth and dead eyes and then the other four were up and lunging at them with bared teeth and sharp claws.

Whatever his sins, John Winchester had taught his sons how to fight, his teaching so ingrained, it passed as DNA imperative.

Don't look at their faces

Eyes red with rage, Dean took one down -

focus on the kill 

\- stood back to back with Sam, machetes slashing, faces grim, teeth clenched, eyes merciless -

watch your brother's back

Number two sank to her knees, severed neck spurting out blood and soaking Sam to the skin. He kept on swinging and took number three from behind when he tried to run.

if you're hurt, suck it up and keep fighting

Number four howled as Dean's downward stroke chopped his arm off at the shoulder. As the creature fell to his knees, hissing, Dean swung again and its head flew off and rolled across the parking lot, face fixed in a defiant snarl.

and don't stop until every fucking one of them is dead

Silence. Victory.

And defeat.

The brothers stood exhausted, surrounded by the dead.

Dean walked slowly over to the slaughtered teenagers - children they could have - should have saved.

"Damn it," he whispered in despair.

Should've known - God, God, they're just freaking kids . . . 

Sam wiped his face, tears mixing with blood. "We didn't know, Dean. No way we could know they'd show up here tonight."

"Maybe if -" Dean stopped, sighed. In truth, they had done everything they could, with the information they had.

It was just that fucking Winchester bad luck again, and these kids had paid for it.

Dean put it aside for now. They weren't done yet.

"Let's finish this and get the hell out of here."

(((((((((())))))))))

The boys drove the teens' Datsun back into the cemetery using the access road, collected the ghouls they'd killed earlier, and then drove back to the parking lot where they loaded the rest of the bodies into the car - including the teenagers.

They soaked the car and its reeking load with gasoline but when Sam drew out his lighter, Dean shook his head tiredly. "Gasoline's not going to be enough. We gotta burn 'em down to ashes and there's too many of them. Go get the magnesium."

Sam nodded and ran to the Impala. He dug underneath the false bottom in the back of the trunk and carefully drew out a metal lockbox.

Back at the gore-packed car, Sam opened the box and handed the dark jar of magnesium shavings to his older brother. "Be careful," he said nervously.

"I will." Dean looked at Sam, saw the anxiety in his eyes. "Don't worry, we don't need to use a lot. We just gotta be sure the fire keeps going until everything's gone."

Dean sent his brother back to the Impala with the lockbox and then sprinkled a few ounces of magnesium shavings over the bodies. Then he threw a couple of lit newspaper cones into the car and waited until he saw them catch.

The brothers sat in the Impala, watching the car burn. After a few hot minutes, the magnesium ignited, flames shooting white hot into the sky - a pyromaniac's dream.

Job done, silent, they drove back to town.

(((((((((())))))))))

"I'm going to take first shower, Sammy. Then while you wash up, I'll go grab us some dinner."

"Sounds good." Sam tried to smile. It was a total failure but a good try. "Good thing we got the room before we went out," he quipped. "Desk clerk would've had a heart attack if she'd seen you like that."

Dean smiled back - another good try - and headed into the bathroom.

\- suck it up -

Sighing, Sam pulled a couple of beers out of the cooler. He took one to his brother in the shower, then came back into the bedroom and started undressing, alternating between long draughts of beer and stripping off another piece of blood-soaked clothing.

Dean wasn't in the shower long, but when he came out, Sam was down to his boxers and already finishing his second beer.

"What do you think, Sam? Pizza?"

"Sounds good." Sam's voice was a little slurred. He saw Dean look at the empty beer bottles and flushed. "Come on, Dean. After today . . . "

"I know, baby," Dean said gently. "Just make that the last one, 'kay? We gotta be on the road early tomorrow and I don't want you to have to travel sick."

Sam nodded, dropping his gaze. He got up to go shower, shied back when Dean leaned in to kiss him. "God, don't, dude." He laughed nervously. "I reek."

Dean clamped a hand on the back of his neck and drew him in. "Who cares?" He kissed him lightly.

"You okay?" he mumbled into Sam's mouth.

Sam nodded. "Tired. I just - I wish - " he stumbled to a halt.

"I know. Me, too." Dean pushed the hair back from Sam's face. "I'll be back quick as I can. Pepperoni okay?"

"And green peppers. And mushrooms!"

With another quick kiss and a nod, Dean was out the door.

When the growl of the Impala had faded, Sam wearily pulled a clean t-shirt and sweat pants out of his duffle and shuffled into the bathroom. He stripped off his boxers and climbed into the shower, turning the water on as hot as it would go, then stood under the blistering stream, watching the blood and dirt wash down the drain.

He'd lied to Dean, of course. Par for the course. Winchesters never admitted to being anything other than fine.

\- good, fine, okay, no problem, thanks for asking now back the hell off -

Thing was, Winchesters spent so much time not being okay, if they ever admitted to not being okay, they'd soon be spending all their time bitching.

Ow, my back hurts! My legs, my arm - oh shit, my shoulder's dislocated again - damn, is that my spleen on the floor?

\- ignore it, move on -

No, he wasn't fine. Dean wasn't fine. But they would be.

He sighed, stuck his shaggy head under the stream of water, rubbed in some shampoo and started scrubbing.

Our lives are so messed up.

When the water started to cool, he rinsed his hair and finished scrubbing off the last of the blood. The water was cold when he finished. He dried off and dressed quickly, shivering.

While combing out his hair, he heard the door in the other room open and close.

"Dean?"

There was no answer. Sam stiffened and turned toward the bathroom door.

"Dean?"

Sam heard a soft laugh.

Shit!

He looked around the bathroom - no window, and his cell phone was in the other room.

"Come on out, boy!"

Shit!

"You come on out or we're coming in!"

At least two, then.

Dad?

With slightly shaking hands, Sam fumbled through the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, pulled out his knife and slid it into the top of his pants at the back.

"Boy! Won't say it again!"

Sam opened the door.

Hunters. Big men, dressed in rough jeans, boots and flannel, and heavily bearded. Both positioned to block him from escaping. Both had guns tucked in their belts. They stank of whiskey and violence.

"Well, well. Sam Winchester," one of them said, swaying drunkenly. "Come to town to clean up a few ghouls and look what we find." He looked at his friend with a sloppy grin. "Told you it was their car, Frank."

The other, older, man didn't answer, just nodded and ran his cold eyes up and down Sam's slim frame.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam asked tightly.

"I'm Jack. This here is Frank. He's not a big talker." He raised a small bottle of whiskey and took a healthy swig. "We're friends of your dad."

Sam's eyes widened. He looked from one to the other, trying to hide his apprehension. "My dad's not here."

"Oh, hell, we know that!" Jack nudged Frank, laughing. "Not yet, anyway."

Sam paled at that. "What - what do you want?"

"Your daddy told us you-all ran off, asked us to keep an eye open." Jack snickered, licked his lips. "See, John - he wants your brother back."

"Dad sent you to get Dean?" Confused, he looked from Jack to Frank.

"Nah. See, John figures with you gone, your brother'll go back to him." Jack laughed at the dawning horror in Sam's eyes. "Your daddy said we should kill you."

"That crazy bastard." Sam said, aghast.

"Listen to the mouth on him. Cute, ain't he, Frank? And just look at those pretty eyes."

"Dean won't go back to him, no matter what you do to me," Sam said desperately.

"Oh, hell, we don't give a shit about that," Jack scoffed. "Thing is, I owe your daddy money. I take care of you, that goes away." He took another drink.

So why aren't I dead already?

A shiver ran over Sam and a dreadful suspicion grew, fueled by the way they were both looking at him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing you ain't already giving away." Jack grinned. "I ain't never fucked a demon before. Have you, Frank?"

Frank's eyes were hot. "Not a boy."

Sam took a step back before he could stop himself.

Jack laughed harder. "Hell, kid, it's not like you're human. What's the problem?"

Sam said incredulously, "My dad told you to -"

"John knows me pretty well, and he didn't tell me not to. That's permission in my book." He drained the last of his bottle, tossed it onto the floor. "Sam, that mouth of yours is about making me crazy. Tell you what, you come with us, do what we tell you - we won't even kill you! How's that for a deal?"

Frank broke in, tired of all the talk. "Damn it, Jack, we don't have all night. Let's get the kid in the truck before his brother comes back."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Sam's voice rose. He fought to keep calm, knowing that if he lost control, he was dead.

Jack gave an excited little giggle. "Oh, you're comin' all right. One way or the other."

Sam saw his death in their eyes. Worse, he saw rape and prolonged torture. He could probably make it back into the bathroom, stall until his brother got back, but Dean - these guys would kill him.

No, no fucking way. He'd rather die than see Dean hurt.

But not their way. Better to die here, now.

Sam could feel the comforting weight of the knife at his back.

Jack weaved toward him. "Come on, cutie, let's get goin'."

Sam hit him in the mouth and sent him staggering back.

"Ouch! You little bastard -" Jack touched his mouth and, amazingly, laughed again. "This is gonna be fun."

"This is taking too goddamned long! Let's just shoot him and get out of here," Frank said roughly.

"Oh, hell no!" Jack said drunkenly. "I want my fuck!" He grinned at Sam. "You're coming, Sam, hard or easy. Take your pick."

Sam squared off, raised his fists. "Hard!" he spat.

Jack laughed. "Good choice!" He lunged at Sam.

One chance.

Choose.

Kill, or be killed.

Sam pulled the knife out from behind him and sank it into the man's chest.

Mouth gaping in surprise, Jack gave a horrible, gurgling cry and fell to the floor, grabbing onto Sam and pulling him down with him.

"Oh, shit!" Frank plunged forward. "Jack!"

Hands bloody, eyes stretched wide with shock and fear, Sam pulled away from the dying man - gun, where's the damn gun, he must have fallen on top of it, shit - and then Frank was on him, hands reaching out, bearded face fixed in a grimace of rage.

Sam twisted away from him and lunged to his feet, going for the duffle next to his bed and the .45 inside, but the big man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back and off his feet, slamming him heavily to the floor.

"You little shit!" Frank hissed. "Your dad was right about you!" He looked at his partner, already dead on the floor, eyes staring blankly up at him. "Damn it!"

Sam kicked out with his bare foot, catching the man on the side of the head. Frank didn't let go and Sam kicked again, aiming desperately for his groin. He missed. Cursing, Frank pulled him up, slapped him heavily across the face and then slammed him back down again onto the floor.

Sam cried out in pain, tears spilling from his eyes, feeling at least one rib break on impact.

Frank raised a fist and slammed it into the boy's mouth. "Goddamned demon!" He hit him again.

"We should've killed you the minute we saw you! Should've killed you!" His hands closed around Sam's throat. "I'll fucking kill you now!"

Choking, Sam tore at the hands around his throat, bucking up at him, trying to use what little strength he had left to throw the man off, but the maddened hunter just growled and squeezed harder.

too big, too big, fight, damn it, fight 

His vision was starting to grey out, little flashes of light pinwheeling at the edges.

Dean, please, I don't want to die!

Desperate for air, he swung his arm in a wild roundhouse swing, striking Frank hard on the ear. The man loosened his hold just enough for Sam to take one precious gulp of air. Then he swore and resettled his hands on Sam's throat, his cock hardening and nudging against Sam's thigh.

no no no!

Sam flung his arms out, hands clutching, grabbing, looking for anything, anything. His hand fell against Jack, gun, where's the gun, metal, gun, not gun, hilt, grab it, sharp, grab it, pull, shit, hurry, hurry, please - !

Dean!


	4. AFTERMATH

supnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupn

 

Dean dropped the pizza box.

Hunters!

Sam!

Lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl of rage and fear, Dean drew his gun and moved cautiously into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

He stepped past the first dead man - who the hell is that? - and crouched next to Sam. His brother lay limp and motionless. The hunter on top of him, another complete fucking stranger, was dead as well, a knife buried in his throat.

Dean pulled the hunter off of Sam, muscling his body off to the side, then went back to Sam and knelt down beside him.

There was so much blood. Sam's white t-shirt was saturated; his arms and hands covered, the top of his sleep pants soaked. The man's blood, Sam's blood?

Jesus, was he even still alive?

Fearfully, Dean leaned over and laid a hand on the side of his brother's neck. Relief swept over him when he felt the thrumming of Sam's pulse beneath his shaking fingers.

At Dean's touch, Sam groaned and drew in a short, rasping breath.

"Sam?"

Sam's eyes opened and he looked up at his brother, confused. "Dean." His voice was the merest whisper. He tried to move and a sharp pain tore through him.

"Don't move, baby." Dean's hands moved over him, whisper soft. "You've got at least one broken rib. And somebody beat hell out of you."

Sam lay still, trying to think through the pain. "Dean, what happened?"

Dean looked into Sam's eyes. Both pupils were the same size and looked reactive. No concussion. "I don't know, man, you tell me," he answered, trying to keep his voice calm. "When I came back with dinner, you were lying on the floor with a couple of dead guys."

"Dead?" Sam frowned dazedly. "I don't under -"

you come on out or we're coming in!

"Dean –" Sam choked and clutched at his brother. "Dean -"

The memory of the night's terror roared in on him. The feel of the knife in his hand as he plunged it into Jack's chest; the look in Frank's mad eyes as he lay dying on top of Sam, choking on his own blood. He shuddered violently.

"Easy, baby, calm down, you're okay." Worried green eyes fixed on Sam's face, Dean stroked his brother's dark hair until the younger boy calmed down a little.

Then, because he had to get them both out of this freaking slaughterhouse before the cops showed up, he said reluctantly, "We gotta go, Sammy. I'm gonna take our gear out to the car, then I'll be back in to get you."

Eyes widening, Sam's hands tightened on Dean's jacket.

I ain't never fucked a demon before . . .

Dean could feel the fine trembling in his brother's hands; knew how close the kid was to losing it. He hated to push him, but this had to have been a loud freaking fight and any one of the neighbors might have called the cops. Being found in a room with two dead men? Not good.

"Come on, Sammy, let go." He gently but firmly loosened Sam's grip on his jacket, held his brother's hands. "I need you to be strong for just a little longer," he said quietly . "Can you do that for me?"

No, don't, don't. Panic clawed at Sam. The last time you left me - no! "Get me up!"

Dean fought down his impatience, lost seconds ticking loudly away in his head. "Sam, I promise, I'll just be a minute –"

"I can't stay on the floor with them!" Sam begged. "Please –"

His gaze fell on Dean's jacket. Bloody handprints were smeared on it.

Sam's hands.

Gagging, he jerked his hands away from Dean. God, they were obscene - the stuff of nightmares. Blood-soaked to the wrists and beyond; his arms red-brown and sticky, almost all the way up to both shoulders. And the smell - thick and sick, copper and rot.

Sam's shell-shocked gaze tracked slowly down from his own blood-soaked body -

Your daddy said we should kill you.

\- to Jack's body

It's not like you're human! What's the problem?

and then to Frank's.

your daddy was right about you

His face twisted in pain and Sam groaned aloud. "Oh, God - Dad."

Dean's face paled and he looked around them involuntarily. "What about him?"

"He sent them," Sam said, breath accelerating. "He sent them to kill me!"

Stunned, Dean shook his head. "Sam, no –"

"Dean, he did!" Agitated, Sam tried to get up, ignoring the sharp jab from his ribs. "They told me he did!"

"Sam, you're going to hurt yourself!" Dean held his now wildly thrashing brother down. "Damn it, calm down!"

Sam's hazel eyes were wide, pupils dilated. "We have to get out of here. He's coming!" He struggled against Dean to rise; fighting the pain in his ribs, the pounding in his head and the fear rising to choke him. "Let me up!"

"Sam –!"

"Let me up!" 

(((((((((())))))))))

John Winchester watched the steady stream of cops and crime scene techs as they filtered in and out of the motel room; watched as two heavy body bags were eventually hauled out, dumped in a coroner's wagon, and driven away.

Dark eyes hard, he considered his options.

Follow the wagon and try to get access to the morgue as law enforcement?

He hadn't shaved in days, or bathed much either. As rough as he looked, odds weren't good they'd buy him as local law enforcement or F.B.I., and he didn't have the time, or the patience, to clean up and go in later.

He needed to know, now, if Dean was dead or alive.

So - pump the local yokels?

That works.

He locked his handgun in the glove box of the truck, combed back his greasy black hair and ambled over to the small knot of women hovering uneasily in front of the motel manager's office.

"Morning," he greeted the group.

They all gave him very subdued nods, except for one - a maid by her uniform - who was practically vibrating with excitement. She gave him a wide grin, which was more than a little disturbing in its manic intensity.

"What's going on?" John asked her.

"Murder!" She announced with relish.

John summoned up a shocked look. "Murder?"

"Two of them! When I went in this morning to clean up, I found two men dead on the floor. Blood everywhere! Stabbed to death!"

"That's horrible," John said, frowning. "Who were they?"

"All we know is they aren't the same two that rented the room." She nodded at a thin young woman in the back of the group who was looking a little green. "Sherry was on the desk when that room checked in. The cops made her look at the dead guys, see if she could identify them. Right, Sher? Sherry?"

Sherry nodded reluctantly. "I've never seen them before." She hesitated, then burst out, "Patty, I can't believe it was those two boys who did this. They were so - so nice."

Patty looked mockingly at her. "So nice-looking, you mean."

Sherry flushed and looked down. John saw the maid had hit the nail on the head.

Patty smirked. "I saw them before I left last night, just for a second." She shook a finger at the mortified girl. "Good looks don't mean a damn thing when it comes to murder. Just look at that bastard Ted Bundy. Good-looking man and a total psycho."

"Probably possessed," John murmured abstractedly.

Patty frowned. "Excuse me?"

He looked back at her innocently.

It seemed to finally occur to her to wonder what he was doing there. "You looking for a room, mister?"

John shook his head and left them with no further conversation. No point in hanging around. The boys were long gone.

Sitting in his truck, he pulled out a map and studied it. Where the hell had his boys gone? Hell, they could be anywhere by now.

Damn Jack anyway. Give the man a simple job and he not only screws it up, but gets himself killed doing it. Dumb shit.

More than likely he'd taken one look at Sam and let his dick do his thinking for him.

Ah, well. He'd known that was a risk. But sometimes you have to use the tools you have, and those two had been the only hunters in reach he'd known that wouldn't flinch at killing a kid out of hand.

Some hunters might have balked at killing Sam at all since, technically, he hadn't done anything wrong yet. As if John didn't know what was best for his own family!

His last conversation with Bob Singer had been a heads-up in that direction. An unmistakable warning to be more careful when choosing his allies.

Damned old fool.

Clearly, spending so much time with Sam when the boy was growing up had turned Singer's brain. He'd be no help at all.

He might even shelter the boys.

John considered that.

All right. He'd follow the boys' trail. If it led anywhere near the Dakotas, he'd pay a visit to the old man and teach him not to meddle in John Winchester's affairs.

John sighed. It was too bad about Sam. But hard times called for hard measures. He'd already lost his wife to this pretender - this damned demon spawn. Damned if he'd lose his one true son as well.

(((((((((())))))))))

The Impala was quiet, neither boy in the mood for anything but silence. Dean kept the car at a steady 70 mph; enough to eat up the miles, but not enough to attract unwanted attention.

After leaving the motel last night, they'd stopped long enough for some quick and dirty first aid and then hit the road. They'd been driving for about eight hours now and Dean was past exhaustion.

He needed sleep, and food. He needed a damned drink. He needed to get his brother into a bed, dose him up with painkillers - he needed to bathe him. They hadn't been able to get all of the blood off Sam with just bottled water to work with and the smell inside the Impala was beyond rank.

What Sam needed, what they both needed, was to get out of the car - a shower, some food, and about twenty hours of sleep.

If he could just be sure how far behind them John was, they could risk stopping. But the thought of his father catching up with him - or of other hunters sniffing them out if they stopped - kept him moving.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his sleep and Dean watched him for a minute to see if he'd wake again. He'd dozed on and off since they started driving, but even with the painkillers, it was more off than on.

Dean's breath gave a little trembling hitch - if those bastards had killed Sam - he cut that thought off and glanced over again at his brother's slumped form.

Sam was alive. That was all that mattered right now. Dean didn't know what had happened in that motel room, or how their father was involved, but he was going to find out. He would deal with their father. He would find a way out of this shit storm.

He would keep Sam safe.

That was his job. His fucking mission in life. He wouldn't fail again.

No matter what it took, he wasn't going to lose his brother.

(((((((((())))))))))

When Dean came as close as spit to a head-on collision with a semi outside Ellisville, Mississippi, Sam called a halt to their wild flight.

They parked the Impala behind the Ellisville Days Inn - safe from passing eyes - and the brothers settled in.

Not talking much, they showered together; Dean gently scrubbing the rest of the blood from Sam's body; keeping a close eye on him in case he decided to fall and break something besides the rib.

Once they were both clean, he re-wrapped Sam's torso, used most of a tube of antibiotic ointment on his face, and tucked his brother into bed.

Then he busied himself about the room, checking the salt lines and the wards; unpacking what they needed from their gear.

Busywork. The lines were fine. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. But the older boy couldn't stop himself.

Finally, when Dean started checking the salt lines a third time, Sam said softly, "Dean, come on." He patted the bed next to him.

Dean sat on the bed. Avoiding Sam's eyes, he felt his forehead. No fever. "Sure you don't want something to eat, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. "Too tired."

Dean studied his brother's face - the vivid, ugly bruises, the cut and swollen lips, the haunted eyes - and cursed himself again. "Shit, kid, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone."

Sam sighed resignedly. "Knew you were thinking something dumb like that."

Dean looked down.

"Could you please not do that, Dean? How the hell could you have known?"

"I should've known it wasn't safe," Dean insisted stubbornly. "I should have figured he'd have people watching for us."

"Damn it, Dean!" A tear ran down Sam's cheek. A second tear followed. He was just too damned tired to hold them back. "It wasn't your stupid fault!"

"Don't cry, baby." Dean leaned over and contritely kissed Sam's forehead. "It breaks my freaking heart when you do that."

"Then stop being an asshole." Sam reached up and pulled weakly at Dean's arm. "Get in here."

Moving carefully, Dean crawled under the covers and curled around Sam. Yes.

This is what he'd needed. To lie next to Sam. To hold him, safe and warm - just the two of them - locked away from the rest of the world. His body and soul hummed with relief.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said sleepily. "Don't let him do that to you. To us."

Dean tucked his face into his brother's neck. "If I'd come back and found you dead - it would have killed me," he whispered.

Sam settled against him and closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. That's why I lived. For you. Always - for you.

(((((((((())))))))))

is it too late for a schmoop alert?


	5. ABSOLUTION

supnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupn

Cell phone plastered against his ear, Dean ran a nervous hand through his short hair. "Yeah, I got it. Man, I'm sorry about this, Bobby."

"Not your fault your dad's bat shit crazy," the older man answered sensibly.

Dean made a noncommittal noise. "Uh, Bobby . . ."

"What?" Bobby grinned to himself. Here it comes.

"I was wondering . . . "

"Spit it out, boy."

"Dad told you about the demon blood," Dean said reluctantly. "Did he tell you, uh, anything else?"

Bobby laughed. "You mean did he tell me you two boys are humping each other like rabbits?"

Dean turned a deep red. "Um - yeah."

"Oh hell, yeah," Bobby chortled. "John was pretty pissed about that. He was madder about that than the demon blood!"

Dean's face turned a deep red. "Damn it!"

The older man decided to let the boy off the hook. "Dean, did you force Sam?"

"No, of course not!"

"Did he force you?"

"No!"

"Okay, then." Bobby poured himself another whiskey. "So long as you don't make me watch, I got no problem with it."

Dean blew out a sigh of relief. "Thanks," he said simply.

"We done now?" Bobby asked. "Cause I don't know about you, but I got work to do."

"Sure, Bobby. Listen - be careful, okay? You're the only family we've got left."

"Don't worry about me," Bobby snorted. "I'll be fine. You tell your brother I said hey - and you two boys watch your asses."

"We will. See ya, Bobby."

Bobby hung up with a snort and a smile. "Idjits."

(((((((((())))))))))

Tossing his cell phone onto the table, Dean let out a heart-felt, "Crap!"

"What's up?" Sam called from the bathroom.

"Bobby says someone's watching his place. He says we should stay away for now."

There was a short silence. "Do you think it's Dad?"

"Or someone he sent, yeah." Dean went to the bathroom door and pushed it open.

Still wet from his shower, his brother was standing in front of the mirror, clad only in a towel slung round his hips, studying himself closely. "Dude!" Sam said, a little irritably. "Privacy!"

Dean shrugged. "Next time lock the door.' He walked up behind Sam and dropped a kiss on the back of his neck. "Getting a little vain, aren't you, Princess? What's so interesting?"

"Nothing." Sam turned away from the mirror and started gathering up his discarded clothing from the floor.

The bullshit answer and the fact that Sam was now avoiding his gaze piqued Dean's interest. "You sick?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Sam, come on," Dean scoffed. "Who do you think you're talking to? Dad? I know you. What's going on?'

Sam glanced up, saw the bulldog expression on his brother's face and knew he wasn't going to let it go. "I was just wondering," he said reluctantly, "if it shows."

Dean frowned. "Does what show?"

"The demon blood," Sam answered, flushing.

"What the hell, Sam!" Dean said, confused. "Of course not."

Sam went back to the mirror and studied his eyes with a troubled expression. "I've been looking and I can't see it," he said softly. "It looks like me. I still feel like me."

"Sam . . ."

Sam turned away from the mirror and saw the stricken look on Dean's face. "I'm sorry. It's just - I don't understand; Dad's known about the demon blood for years. What made him decide he has to kill me now?"

"Sam," Dean said helplessly, "There's nothing wrong with you, it was him! Just because some asshole demon fed you a few drops of blood sixteen years ago -"

"Then what made him send those guys?" Sam interrupted. "What made him -" he stopped, biting his lip.

"Sam?"

"Forget it. " Sam moved past Dean into the bedroom, his brother following right behind him. He stuffed his dirty clothing into the laundry bag and pulled on a pair of clean jeans, rooted around for a shirt. "I'll get dressed. We can go out and get some dinner. I'm starving."

"No. Uh uh." Dean took his arm and pulled him around. "Come on, brother. We agreed. No secrets."

"I'm fine." Sam shrugged. "Just thinking about what happened, trying to figure it out."

Guided by instinct and long years of experience in spotting Sam's tells (overly casual stance, eyes that met his way too readily, nervous hand thrusting through tousled hair), he said, eyes narrowing, "You can't figure out crazy, Sam. That's why they call it crazy.

Sam grinned faintly. "Yeah, I guess."

"Come on, brother, quit stalling. Spill your guts."

"You're actually asking for a chick flick moment?"

Dean made an impatient come on gesture with his hand.

"It's just - " Come on, Sam thought, you've been wanting to talk to Dean about this for days, don't chicken out now! 

"Listen, Dean, we don't know what the deal with the demon blood was. There had to be a reason why he did it, something he was going to get out of it, right?"

Dean nodded, brow creased. "Yeah, sure. So?"

"Well, what was it? What did the demon blood do to me?" Sam went to the window, pulled the curtain back and stared outside.

"There has to be something; something we haven't seen yet. There has to be something wrong with me." He glanced nervously at his brother and then away, hazel eyes distressed.

"Oh." Hell. "Whatever that bastard has planned for you, it's not gonna happen." He grinned reassuringly. "Not while you got me looking out for you."

"But -" Sam drew in a deep breath. "Dean, it could be bad. Really bad. It might be something so bad that" - just say it - "Dean, you're all I have. If I lose you . . ."

Dean blinked with surprise. "Whoa, Sam, where did that come from?"

"You love me, I know that - but what if I change?" Sam was babbling now. "What if when it happens, you don't want to be with me anymore?"

"What?"

"Dean - Dad changed. What if you, if I -" he stopped at the hurt look on his brother's face. "Dean . . . "

"What!" Dean said angrily. "Because Dad's an asshole, I am too? I haven't proven myself to you? Me leaving Dad wasn't proof that I'm in this, with you, all the way?"

"Dean, please, don't be mad," Sam stammered. "It's not that, it's not you."

Seeing Sam start to tremble, and the shine of tears in his eyes, Dean reined himself in, cursing his temper.

No matter how mature his brother seemed, no matter how skilled a hunter, no matter how smart the little geek was, he was still only sixteen years old. And he'd been through a hell of a lot lately. A hell of a lot.

Putting aside his own hurt feelings, Dean pulled Sam into a hard hug. "You're a moron, you know that?"

"Dean -" God, such a fucking baby. "I'm sorry, just, don't be mad, okay?"

"I'm not mad, not really," Dean said, exasperated. "I just don't get where this is coming from."

Sam didn't answer, just stood huddled against his big brother.

"Is this about - ?" Dean frowned. "Sam, we haven't really talked too much about that night. Maybe we need to."

When Sam looked away, chewing his lower lip nervously, a cold feeling settled into the pit of Dean's stomach.

"Did something happen you haven't told me about?"

Sam's eyes fell. "No."

"Sam, did they - ?" Dean's heart sank. Oh shit, no. "Sam, I swear, whatever it is -"

Sam jerked away. "I said no!"

Dean blew out a breath and stood watching as his brother agitatedly paced the room - dark, damp hair curling around his neck, gooseflesh rising up on his bare chest.

Every part of him wanted to grab Sam and shake the truth out of him. It took everything he had to stay still and let his brother come out with whatever was eating at him in his own time.

After a few minutes, a little calmer, Sam went again to the window and leaned against it, looking outside.

"They didn't touch me that way,' he said, glancing tentatively at Dean. "But they were going to."

Dean waited.

"I couldn't believe it was happening, at first," Sam went on. "The one guy was drunk on his ass, saying shit about my eyes and my lips - it didn't seem real, but - they were gonna take me away, kill me someplace else. They said Dad thought that if I was gone, you'd go back to him."

"Dad was wrong," Dean said tautly.

"I told them that. They didn't care. Jack owed Dad some money; he told them if they - took care of me, the debt was cancelled."

"Then - when Jack came at me - " he looked at Dean with unhappy eyes - "I killed him."

He left the window and fell back into his restless pacing.

"The other guy got hold of you." Dean prompted after a minute.

"Yeah." Sam said, embarrassed. "That was stupid. I was trying to grab my gun. I should've gone for the door. He was - Jack was crazy, but Frank - he was - he was really scary."

Remembering, all the color washed out of Sam's face. "I couldn't get away. He was just too strong. Dean, I tried, I really tried but he had me and I just couldn't get away -"

the knife sinking into Jack's chest, 

dead eyes staring 

Frank's weight on top of Sam

angry hands around his throat 

Frank's dick hard against him

Dad knew . . . 

"Sam!" Dean crossed the room quickly and held his shuddering brother. "Take it easy, baby."

Sam leaned into him. "Sorry. Sorry." He drew a shaky breath. "Just - kinda just hit me again." He tried to laugh. "It's so stupid. They were going to kill me. Why does them wanting to rape me make it feel so much worse?"

"Sam - " Dean hesitated. "What aren't you telling me?"

Sam seemed to shrink under his hands.

"You know, kid," Dean said, trying to be light about it, "every time you do that, it makes me think that things are worse than they really are. Just tell me, okay?"

Sam gritted his teeth. He didn't want to tell him, but - Dean had to know what their father was capable of.

"They said it would be fun to fuck a demon," he finally said. "Jack said - he said that Dad knew what they were gonna do."

Dean stiffened. "Dad knew?" he said incredulously.

"Didn't want to tell you." Sam's voice broke and he tried to pull away, but Dean held on tight.

Sam gave in and clung to him, tears starting. "Dean, Dad knew. He didn't just send them to kill me. He knew they were going to rape me!"

Dean had thought his heart had broken when he'd read of his father's decision to kill Sam.

That had been nothing compared to this.

Tightly locking his own grief away, Dean maneuvered his sobbing brother over to the bed where they lay down together. He held Sam close and kissed away his tears, murmured soft reassurances and comforting lies - and thought about patricide.


	6. REDEMPTION

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Sam quieted gradually and lay tucked in against Dean, exhausted.

Dean said quietly, "You okay?"

"Dean - " Sam pressed his face against Dean's shoulder. "I had to kill them. I swear, I had to."

"Sam, I know - "

"They were going to take me and fuck me and kill me and you'd never have known what happened to me," he whispered.

Dean flinched. "Sam - "

"Listen! I had to kill those guys. But there's a part of me -a part that thinks killing them makes me what Dad says I am. A monster." Sam paused, trembling. "Part of me thinks maybe I should've just died, like he wants me to."

"No, Sam, no." Dean put his arms around Sam, but his brother's body stayed stiff and tight.

"Dean, what - what if you're the only thing keeping me human? What happens if I change and I'm not me anymore?" He drew in a shaky breath and voiced his deepest fear. "I don't want you to have to kill me."

Dean shuddered. "That'll never happen, Sammy." He held his brother tighter, pouring the strength of his love into him, his belief in his brother's innate goodness - the knowledge that all would be well between them.

After a time, Sam sighed and they snuggled back against each other.

"Do you remember what I told you the night it happened?" Dean asked presently.

"Nuh uh."

"I said that if I'd come back and found you dead -" Dean's voice got a little hoarse - "it would have killed me."

He tilted Sam's chin up and looked into his eyes. "I meant that. Killing those bastards, you didn't just save your life. You saved mine."

Dean could see that his words had reached Sam, but there was still a lot of pain in those hazel eyes, and he was determined to take that away.

"Okay, baby. This is gonna be a massive chick flick moment and it'll probably never happen again, so pay attention, okay?"

Confused, Sam nodded.

"You're it for me, you big, dumb sasquatch," Dean said bluntly. "I love you."

"You're a huge pain in the ass, but you're the only person in the world that means a goddamned thing to me."

"When you say stupid shit like maybe I won't love you anymore, I want to thump you. But I still love you."

"When you bore me silly talking about quasars or Tennyson or the origins of Christianity for a fucking hour, I still love you."

"When you hit me with your bitch face, I want to smack you. But I still love you."

He touched Sam's face tenderly, smoothed his curling hair back from his forehead.

` "When you cry, it rips my freaking heart out. And when you're not with me, all I can think about is getting back to you."

"Dean. . . "

"Quiet. I'm not done being a woman yet," Dean said softly.

"If you go dark side, brother, I'll be right there with you. And if you die - I'm going, too."

"Dean -"

"Accept it. I know you feel the same way."

They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment.

"Okay. That's it, then." Dean grinned wryly. "That clear enough for you, Samantha?"

Sam stayed still for a long moment.

Then, with a low cry, frantic with love and need, he threw himself on top of Dean and plastered his mouth over his brother's - hot, frenzied kisses, tongue licking, desperately claiming. "Dean . . . "

After a breathless minute, Dean tore his mouth away.

"Sammy, wait - "

"No!" Sliding down Dean's body, Sam quickly unbuckled his brother's belt and tore his jeans down over his thighs, panting with eagerness.

need you need you now need to show you show you

"Jesus, Sam -" Dean tried to sit up but collapsed back with a gasp when Sam leaned in and sucked in his brother's cock, eyes hot and not quite sane.

Dean.

This man who had raised him, protected him, loved him as no other ever had or would - father, brother, lover - all those things. He deserved all that Sam could give him - all that Sam was and more.

everything - anything.

Dazed, euphoric, Sam licked slowly and sensuously up Dean's dick, swirled teasingly around the bundle of nerves just beneath the head.

"Sam . . . "

Took in his dick as far as he could, his nose pressed into Dean's soft curls, fingers scratching softly over his balls, the base of the shaft

for you, Dean, all for you, everything for you 

Teeth scraping, mouth working up and down, tongue digging ruthlessly into the slit at the crown, Sam moaning in helpless response to Dean's muttered, muffled curses -

"Baby, let me - "

He left Dean's leaking, throbbing dick and sucked his balls into his mouth, warm and tight - the taste, the smell - listening with satisfaction as Dean moaned and gasped.

all for you 

"Ah, yes, God, yes, Sam!"

And then he deserted Dean's balls and went down on his brother's dick again, took him so deep he couldn't breathe, but fuck breathing, screw anything but this.

love you, Dean, love you, love you, love me, love me

"Oh God, Sam, that's so good."

Sam's nails dug into Dean's thighs. His hand curled around to his ass; an eager finger circled Dean's hole, then slid into the entrance, surprising a husky cry out of his brother.

"Christ, Sammy, let me up, let me -" Dean arched up, moaned - "want to come inside you -"

Sam pulled off of Dean's cock with a sloppy wet sound and stared down at his brother, panting.

Moving slowly, dreamily, he took both their cocks in his big hands and pumped them up slowly up and down. Pre-come dripped heavily and they slipped and slid against each other.

"You want to fuck me, Dean?" Sam's voice was low, harsh with need and lust.

Dean nodded frantically, thrusting up into Sam's hands. "Wanna fuck you, baby brother."

With a final rough tug, Sam released their dicks and pulled his brother's pants off the rest of the way; then shoved his own off and tossed it all to the floor. Impatiently, Dean pulled off his shirt and threw it after. "Sam . . .

Keeping his eyes intently on Dean's, Sam reached over and rummaged through the mess on top of the bedside table, finally locating the lube.

"Fuck, Sam, hurry up!" His cock still screaming indignantly at the loss of Sam's mouth and hands, Dean made a grab for Sam's dick, bobbing just out of his reach.

Sam bent over and gave his brother's cock a quick lick and then dribbled half the tube of lube over it, Dean hissing and squirming under the cool, wet stuff.

Sitting back on Dean's thighs, Sam squirted more lube onto his own fingers. "How many should I take? Three? Four?"

Dean watched, mesmerized, as Sam reached a hand around and slipped a finger into his own ass, humming contentedly at the tight, delicious burn.

Loving Dean's eyes on him, Sam licked his cock-swollen lips and slipped a second finger into his ass, hooking them and giving a sharp gasp as he brushed roughly against his prostate.

Dean dug his fingers into the sheets impatiently. "christ . . ."

Sam pushed in a third finger. He closed his eyes for a moment, moving them in and out and then looked back at Dean.

"Another?" he asked thickly.

Dean nodded jerkily.

Sam pushed a fourth finger in and groaned, widening his entrance even further.

"I want you to fuck me, Dean," he whispered darkly, his pupils blown wide.

"Fuck me until I forget what I am." He pushed back onto his fingers and uttered a guttural cry of pain and desire.

At the sound, Dean shoved Sam off of him and pushed him flat onto the bed; Sam's fingers popping out of his ass at the sudden movement.

Dean straddled his brother, their two cocks rubbing against each other; he grabbed Sam's hand and sucked on his fingers, reveling in the smell and taste.

"Fuck me, Dean," Sam groaned. "Show me I'm not a monster, that you don't care about the demon blood. Show me I'm still human."

"I'll show you!" Dean swore. He pulled Sam up and guided him to his hands and knees.

Sam understood, Whimpering in eagerness, he spread his legs wide and pushed his ass into the air, his hole pulsing and wet with lube.

"Oh, dear God, yes." Licking his lips, he bent down and gave a teasing lick to Sam's hole. He swirled his tongue around it, alternating between quick little flicks and slow, languorous swipes, body thrumming with pleasure at Sam's broken sounds.

Then, giving no warning, he grabbed hold of his brother's hips and shoved his tongue inside him.

"Shit!" Sam screamed and shoved back at Dean's tongue, sending it deeper, little convulsions of pleasure rocketing through him. "Yes!" Tongue stabbing in and out of Sam's ass, Dean reached around and took hold of his brother's cock with one hand, pumping it in time to the thrust of his tongue, and massaging the boy's tight, throbbing balls with the other.

"Dean," Sam gasped. "Stop teasing, I - I'm almost - fuck me, fuck me hard, need you - fuck me!"

With a final tongue fuck drawing a helpless croak out of his brother, Dean pressed against him and rubbed his dick against Sam's hole, drawing a stream of frenzied profanity from his little brother.

"Gonna fuck you good, Sammy," Dean grunted, finally starting his push inside him.

"do it!"

"You won't be able to fucking walk -" Dean laughed raggedly, holding Sam still as he struggled to push back against him.

"You 'member what I told you?"

"Two weeks!" Sam panted frantically. "Two weeks! God! Yes! Fuck me, Dean, I want you in me!"

With a groan, Dean shoved the rest of the way into his brother's body until his hipbones rested against Sam's ass, then stopped, holding Sam still again.

"You want me, baby?"

Sam tried to shove back against him, but Dean held him still.

"Uh uh, tell me what you want, Sammy -"

"God, Dean, please, love your cock, love you inside me, fuck me, fuck me -"

"You got it, baby." With a snarl, Dean grabbed hold of Sam's hips and started to fuck - hard, punishing, just the way his brother wanted it, groaning in satisfaction at the wet heat of Sam's ass as it clenched around his dick.

Tremors running through him, Dean could feel Sam's body start to convulse as his orgasm neared. Dean quickened his pace, slamming harder, faster.

"Not yet, Sam!"

Dean pulled out, leaving his cock head hovering just inside Sam's entrance. He leaned over him, licked the top of his brother's ass, felt him shudder and laughed.

Sam gave a desperate cry and Dean slapped his brother's ass and plunged in again - he pulled back, drove forward - again! again! - his heavy dick dragging against Sam's prostate as he fought in and out - Sam wild-eyed, shoving back against him, fucking himself on Dean's dick, desperately trying to keep pace.

With a hoarse growl, Dean pulled out and flipped Sam over onto his back, dropping down onto him and shoving into him again - heavy, rhythmic pounding - choking gasps and moans and curses pouring out of them.

Close now - so fucking close - Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, held him, kept it going, loved him, fucked him.

Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as he neared his orgasm. Dean licked the tears from his brother's face, salt and lust. "Kiss me," he whispered.

Whimpering, bucking upward ecstatically, Sam took Dean's mouth - Dean, yes, fuck, yes, love, don't stop - his pleasure feeding Dean's and spiraling back to him, shocks of lust and pleasure roaring through them.

Sam's orgasm erupted and he screamed hoarsely into Dean's mouth, writhing violently against him, his ass clenching around Dean's cock, his own dick spurting thick white come thickly between them.

Dean kept thrusting - sam sam sam - kept on fucking Sam and then as his own orgasm tore through him and his come filled his brother, Dean sank his teeth into Sam's shoulder, and blood spurted into his mouth, sharp and coppery.

Sam cried out and Dean smashed his mouth back onto his brother's. Bodies grinding, tongues and blood mingling, their hoarse cries filled each other and they rode each other to a standstill - stunned, and trying to breathe

(((((((((())))))))))

The bite mark on Sam's shoulder was still bleeding.

Dark, sweat-soaked hair hanging into his eyes, Sam watched as his brother leaned down and licked the wound lovingly.

"If your blood makes you a monster, Sammy," Dean said huskily, "Then I guess I'm a monster, too."

Sam pulled Dean down and kissed him.


	7. HUNTED

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"Hey, Sammy!"

Sam's eyes flew open and he bolted upright in bed.

The demon, the demon, yellow eyes blazing, stood at the foot of the bed, grinning down at the two brothers. "Well, don't you two look cozy!"

"Dean!" Sam shook his shoulder. "Dean!"

Dean didn't wake; he didn't even twitch. Sam glared at the demon. "What did you do to him?"

"Sam, Sam," he chided. "Think."

Sam tried to push down the adrenaline rushing through his body. After a moment, he said flatly, "This is a dream."

The demon shrugged. "Well, it's kind of half and half. After all, if I tried this while you two were awake, I'd end up having to kill Dean and I don't want to do that. Right now he's the only thing standing between you and a bullet in the head."

Sam flinched and the demon laughed. "Nothing like a father's love, eh, Sam?" He shook his head. "He's coming for you. You should have killed him the day you left, kiddo."

Sam paled. "He's my father," he said tightly.

"Maybe someone should remind him of that," the demon said maliciously. "Oh, Sam, almost forgot, I wanted to thank you for sending down Jack and Frank." He dissolved into helpless laughter. "You'll be happy to know they're paying for their little, um, indiscretion."

Sam felt ill. "You son of a bitch!"

"Oh, lighten up, boy! I saw what those two had in store for you!" He gestured to Dean with a cruel glint in his eyes. "Even if you'd lived through it, I doubt lover boy here would've wanted anything to do with you once they were done. That kind of thing tends to leave a bad taste in the mouth –"

Sam grabbed up the bedside lamp and heaved it at the jeering demon.

"Get out of my head!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Cold and shaking, Sam woke. He and Dean were alone in their motel room. His brother slept on his stomach, arm thrown over Sam's stomach, breath showing warm in the chill night air.

Moving carefully, Sam slid out from under Dean's arm and sat at the edge of the bed, running a trembling hand over his face.

He's coming for you.

Like I didn't already know that, he thought bitterly. Why don't you tell me something useful, you prick?

Unless . . .

Rising, he padded quickly to the window, snagging his pistol from the top of the dresser on the way. He pulled the curtain out from the side and looked out into the parking lot.

Quiet out there. And dark. He couldn't see any movement; couldn't hear anything. Didn't mean there wasn't anything out there, of course.

He's coming for you.

Yeah, he was coming. Maybe not tonight, but some day. And salt wouldn't keep him out. Neither would the wards. With a sense of futility, Sam took one of the chairs from the kitchenette and wedged it under the door knob. That would at least slow him down.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled from the bed. "Everything okay?"

Sam went quickly back to the bed and crawled in beside his brother. "It's fine, Dean. I was just getting a drink of water," he lied.

"Umm." Dean pulled him in close and wrapped his arms around him. "You're cold," he complained sleepily.

"Sorry," Sam whispered, cuddling against him as Dean slid back into sleep.

He lay awake the rest of the night - watching, listening, and worrying about how his brother would take the news that the yellow-eyed demon was back and rattling around in his lover's head.

OOOOOOOOOO

Kubrick dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. "How long do we have to stay out here anyway?"

"As long as it takes," Gordon replied, staring toward the distant house.

"What makes Winchester think his kids are gonna show up here?"

"A man knows his own sons."

"I s'pose." Kubrick rubbed his hands together. "It's freezin' out here!"

Gordon gave a quiet sigh, regretting, not for the first time, his choice in partners.

Kubrick paced around the clearing, jittering nervously. "Why don't we go into town and have a drink? We can be there and back in an hour."

"No."

"We could get something to eat," Kubrick persisted.

Gordon wheeled to face him. "Damn it, will you shut up?"

"Jeez, what's your problem?"

"My problem," Gordon snapped, "is that you don't know when to be quiet! You're going to get us killed!"

"Ah, come on, what are you so worried about?" Kubrick scoffed. "He's just one old man."

Gordon looked at him disbelievingly. "Are you stupid? Have you met Singer?"

Kubrick shook his head.

"That old man will kick your ass all the way around his property if he hears you. He's one of the toughest sons of bitches around and I don't want to wake him up."

"Too late, asshole."

Gordon and Kubrick froze at the gruff voice, which was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being racked and a low, throaty growl.

Bobby Singer walked into the clearing, a large Rottweiler at his side and a shotgun leveled at the two hunters.

"Singer," Gordon said.

"Gordon Walker," Bobby said contemptuously. "It don't surprise me that John sent you. You're just as crazy as he is."

"Where's the boy?" Gordon growled.

"If I knew I sure as hell wouldn't tell you," Bobby said harshly. "Now take your sidekick and haul your ass out of here. And don't come back. Next time I won't bother with a warning."

"Why are you protecting a demon?" Gordon demanded. He took an angry step forward but stopped when the dog rumbled warningly.

"He's not a demon, he's a kid," Bobby said coldly. "You're starting to piss me off, Walker." He jerked his head toward their car. "You two git. Now."

White-faced, Kubrick jumped into the car. Gordon didn't move. His disHark eyes blazed. "You're making a mistake, Singer."

"They're mine to make. Last chance. Go."

Careful not to move too quickly, keeping his hands away from his sides, Gordon stepped back and maneuvered himself into the car.

Lowering the shotgun slightly, Bobby watched as the car pulled out onto the highway. When the headlights had disappeared, he started back toward the house, dog at his heels.

Should've shot him, he thought sourly. That bastard's gonna be trouble.

OOOOOOOOOO

Three miles down the highway, Gordon pulled over to the side of the road and turned in his seat to glare at his partner. "Get out."

"Wha -?"

"Get – out."

Confused, Kubrick looked out the window. Nothing out there but the dark. "Why?"

"Because you almost got me shot, you moron!" Gordon said angrily. "Now get out of the goddamned car!"

"Gordon – it's my car!" Kubrick protested.

Gordon pulled out his gun and cocked it. "Out."

Kubrick fumbled the car door open and scrambled out. Mouth tight, Gordon reached into the backseat, grabbed Kubrick's backpack and threw it out the door after him.

"Shut the damned door," he ordered.

Kubrick obeyed and watched resignedly as Gordon peeled away. He thought briefly about calling the police and reporting the car stolen. Then he decided that he'd rather not have his ex-partner pissed off at him anymore than he already was. Like the old man had said, Gordon was kinda crazy.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he trudged on down the highway.

OOOOOOOOOO

Dean woke up alone.

"Sam?" Craning to see the alarm clock on the bedside table – 6am – he saw a note with Sam's familiar scrawl propped up against the lamp. Gone for breakfast. Back soon.

He settled back against his pillow, frowning. Kid was up early. Come to think of it, he'd been up early yesterday. And the day before. Was he having nightmares again? Or was he just nervous about Dad?

The laptop's lid was open on the kitchen table, though it had powered down, indicating that although Sam had been on it this morning, it had been idle for a while. Maybe Sam had just been up digging up a hunt for them. They were both more than ready to move on.

He was tempted to go over to the computer and check it out, but the bed was so soft, so comfortable, and warm. Maybe if he played it right, he could get his brother back in bed for a little early morning -

The door opened and Sam walked in, balancing food and coffee. Seeing Dean awake, he smiled, nudging the door closed with his hip. "Hey.

"Hey," Dean said lazily, eyes gleaming speculatively.

Sam dumped the food onto the kitchen table and went over to the bed, sitting down next to his brother. "Hungry?"

"No." Dean pulled Sam's head down and kissed him thoroughly. "Come back to bed."

Sam pulled back and said teasingly, "I brought french toast. And strawberry syrup."

Dean groaned and glanced over at the table. Then he yanked Sam in for another kiss, sending his hands under his brother's shirt and going straight for his sensitive nipples.

At the contact, Sam gasped and mumbled into his brother's mouth, "Hash browns."

The brothers looked into each other's eyes.

Sam cleared his throat. "Scrambled eggs. And bacon."

Dean pushed him away and jumped out of bed. "I'm gonna go wash up. Out in a minute." He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

Laughing, Sam went back to the table and started pulling food out of the bags. Then he set the table using the worn plates and utensils the motel had provided with the small kitchenette.

Dean came up behind him and snaked an arm around his waist, nuzzling his neck. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. I just thought it would be nice -" He caught his breath when Dean's hand slipped under his shirt again and skimmed across his belly, then dipped lower. Sam leaned back against him with a little moan.

With a laugh and a rough kiss, Dean released him and sat down at the table, grinning up at him wickedly. "I hate cold eggs."

His breathing a little uneven, Sam dropped into the chair opposite and piled a few slices of french toast onto his plate. "Fucking tease."

Dean stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll make it up to you."

Sam dipped a finger into the syrup and stuck it into his mouth, sucking the sweet stuff off loudly. "Oh, I know you will."

Dean stopped chewing for a minute, his eyes on Sam's mouth. Then he snorted and stuffed another piece of bacon into his mouth.

OOOOOOOOOO

Forty-five minutes later, replete, Dean leaned back in his chair and let out a large belch.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh now that's attractive."

Dean reached out and cuffed him on the side of the head.

"Dude!" Sam slapped his hand away. "You got syrup all over my hair."

"Stop whining, you little bitch. You can take another shower. That was in my game plan anyway." Dean wiped the grease and syrup from his hands and tossed the crumpled napkin onto the table. "Okay, Sam, spill it."

Still thinking about "shower" and "game plan", Sam said, "Huh?"

"Come on, man," Dean said chidingly. "The last time you brought home this much food, you'd scratched the Impala's rear fender. You brought enough chinese food to kill three men."

Sam recovered quickly. "And you ate it all," he scoffed.

Dean grinned. "I'm not an ordinary man." His face sobered quickly. "Come on, Sam. You haven't been sleeping the last few nights. We promised we wouldn't have any secrets. What's up?"

Sam sighed. "Yellow Eyes is back."

Dean sat up straight in his chair and his lips peeled back from his teeth in an angry snarl. "Son of a bitch!"

Knowing the words weren't meant for him, Sam managed not to flinch but Dean saw the pain in his eyes and grimaced. "Sorry. I just freaking hate - what's that rat bastard telling you now?"

"Mostly that I should have killed Dad." Sam shrugged. "Said he's coming for me."

Dean snorted. "Like we didn't know that already. Hell. This is why you've been up the last few nights?"

"Kind of hard to sleep knowing he's there waiting for me."

Dean blew out an angry breath. "No kidding." Trying not to sound accusatory, he asked, "Why'd you wait to tell me?"

Sam flushed. "I'm sorry – I was hoping it was just dreams. It's been good, since we left Dad, except for –" he drew in a deep breath. "Dean - I'm tired of him poking into my head whenever he feels like it. I need to find a way to block him, fight him. Something." Forehead creased in a worried frown, he added, "I'm worried, if he can get inside my head, maybe he knows where we are."

"I don't think he wants to hurt you, Sammy," Dean reassured him quickly. "He's spending a lot of time making sure you stay alive."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Sam said simply. "And that's not all."

"Oh, crap. What?" Dean asked apprehensively.

"He knew what happened with Jack and Frank. He said they're – down there."

Dean didn't understand at first, then it clicked and his jaw dropped. "Whoa. Really?" He thought about that for a minute. "You think he was just screwing with your head?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm pretty sure they're both burning in hell right now."

"Jesus." Dean was a little pale. "I don't know what to do about this. Give me a straight fight and I'll do my best to kick his ass, but this is way over my freaking head." He got up from the table and Sam watched as he nervously paced the room.

"Maybe there's a protection spell or a charm that'll keep him off," Sam said tentatively. "We could go see Bobby. I know he said it's not safe, but he knows as much about this kind of thing as Dad. Maybe more."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think –"

"Even if he doesn't have an answer," Sam interrupted, "maybe he can point us in the right direction."

Dean hesitated. "We could call. That would be safe enough."

Sam's face fell.

"It's not really safe to go there, Sam."

"I know." Sam tried to smile. "It's just – it would be good to see a familiar face – one that's not trying to kill me."

"Yeah. Yeah, it would." Thinking, Dean pulled his cell phone out. "I'll talk to Bobby. See what he says."

OOOOOOOOOO

Gordon hid the car in a copse of trees about three miles from Bobby's house and hiked back in, a bag of supplies in his arms and a sniper's rifle slung across his back.

Close to dawn, he crept into the scrap yard. Careful to stay upwind of the house, so the old man's dog wouldn't catch his scent, he managed to make his way to a three car pile-up. Crawling into the top car, he settled in and waited.


	8. ESCALATION

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"Dean, it's not a good idea to come here, not right now," Bobby said emphatically.

Dean flicked a glance at Sam, who was leaning against him to listen in on the conversation. "I know Bobby, but I gotta tell you, we really could use some help. Sam's not getting a hell of a lot of sleep; this shithead's in his melon pretty much every night –"

"Do you know Gordon Walker?" Bobby interrupted.

"I don't know him, but Dad does," Dean answered. "He's a hunter."

"Yeah, a damned good one. I threw him and his partner off my property last night. They're hunting Sam."

The two brothers looked at each other. Sam's eyes were dismayed, Dean's - furious.

"Dad said that Walker's a whack job," Dean said tightly into the phone. "He won't even hunt with him."

"Not many people will. There's nothing that bastard won't do to finish a job. He doesn't care who gets hurt. Or killed. All he cares about is finishing the job."

"Great," Dean said sourly. "It's not bad enough Dad sends a couple of rapists after us; now he's sends a homicidal maniac."

"What? He sent a what?" Bobby's voice rose.

Sam pulled away from Dean, scowling. "What the hell, Dean!"

Dean lowered the phone and started after Sam, who was stomping to the door. "Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –" he caught his brother's arm and pulled him to a halt. "Stay inside!"

Frustrated, breathing hard, Sam slammed a hand against the door. "Damn it!"

Bobby's voice was spouting metallically from the phone into the air. Eyes on Sam, who'd thrown himself angrily down onto the bed, Dean raised his cell back to his ear. "Sorry, Bobby."

"What the hell did your idiot father do? Are you okay? Is Sam okay?"

"He's fine, Bobby," Dean reassured him quickly. "We're fine."

"What happened, then?"

"Not now, Bobby. Okay?" Dean said in a low voice.

Bobby growled a little bit. "I want to hear about this later, Dean!"

Dean murmured an assent.

Reluctantly, Bobby dropped it. "Like I said," he went on, "it's not a good idea to come. I haven't seen Walker since I ran him off, but I got the feeling he's around here somewhere."

"Hell," Dean said. "Perfect goddamned timing. Have you ever – do you know anything that could help us keep this bastard demon out of Sammy's head?"

"Gimme a minute." Dean heard him put the phone down on the other end.

While he was waiting for Bobby to return, Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam, who looked a little calmer.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I wasn't thinking," he said apologetically.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay." Sam shook his head wearily. "I'm just tired and – I don't want him thinking of that when he looks at me. Bad enough that –" he broke off.

"What?"

"Nothing" Sam gave Dean a small smile. "I'm an idiot."

Bobby picked up the phone and at Dean's gesture, Sam sat up to listen in.

"I got an idea," Bobby said. "I know somebody a couple states over, a psychic. Her name's Pamela Barnes. She might be able to help Sam."

"What help could a psychic be against a demon?" Dean said doubtfully.

"Well, seems to me it's a matter of Sam being able to shield himself. A good psychic has to know all about that kind of thing, otherwise they'd have people tripping in and out of their head all day long."

Sam nodded, feeling a little hopeful. "That makes sense."

"I called her but she wasn't there. I'll try again later."

Relieved, Dean grinned and ruffled his brother's hair, earning a shove. "Sammy was right, Bobby. He said you were the one to call."

"Yeah, well, don't throw me any parades just yet," Bobby said practically. "Wait till I talk with her, see what she says. Don't want you two turning up on her doorstep like lost puppies before I have a chance to give her a heads up.

"Okay, Bobby."

"Listen - you sure Sam's okay?"

With a shrug, Dean handed the phone to Sam.

"I'm fine, Bobby," Sam said.

"Good. Keep it that way. Listen, I'll call back in a couple of hours. In the meantime, hang in there. We'll take care of this."

"Okay, Bobby. Thanks." Sam clicked the cell shut when Bobby disconnected and got restlessly off the bed. "I'm gonna pack up the car. I want to get out of here."

"We can't go to his house, you heard what he said about Walker," Dean said firmly.

"I know," Sam said irritably. "We don't have to go to Bobby's, let's just get on the road."

Dean started to protest, thinking of Sam and bed; then, looking at his brother's not very receptive face, shrugged. "Sure."

A few minutes later, packing, and regretting his earlier sharp tone, Sam said abruptly. "Listen, I know it's not gonna make a difference to whether he finds me in my dreams or not, it just makes me feel better when we're moving. Like, I don't know, maybe he has a harder time finding me."

Dean started to answer, but his cell rang. Closer to it, Sam retrieved it from the bed and flipped it open. "Hey, B –"

"Hello, Sam," his father said.

Sam froze, his mouth going dry. Alarmed at the look on his face, Dean straightened¸ clothes falling from his hands.

"Nice job on Jack and Frank," John went on. "I'm guessing Dean killed them, since you're not much of a fighter. But their deaths are still on your head."

"Dad," Sam stammered. "I – you - " He looked at his brother helplessly and Dean snatched the phone away.

"You prick!" he spat. "You got some fucking nerve calling us!"

"I want you to come back to me, Dean," John said calmly, ignoring Dean's outburst. "If you come back, I'll leave Sam alone."

Dean's mouth opened but nothing came out. Finally, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You've got to get away from him, Dean. You killed two humans," John said persuasively. "How long before you start killing innocents? How long before your soul is so tainted you don't even know the difference anymore?"

"I didn't –" Dean stopped, not wanting to give their father any more ammunition.

"It was Sam?" John asked, surprised. Recovering quickly, he said in an amused voice, "Guess some of my training sank in after all."

"Fuck you, Dad."

Sam shuddered and moved away and Dean let him, not wanting him to hear any more. Sam went into the bathroom and shut the door sharply behind him.

"You'll be back, one way or another," John said with certainty. "Come back now. Sam will be fine."

"Yeah, until Gordon Walker catches up to him," Dean said bitingly.

John didn't answer.

"Didn't think we knew about that, did you? You sent killers after my brother," Dean said succinctly. "You sent rapists."

"I didn't know –"

"Don't lie," Dean interrupted, voice cold. "So far as I'm concerned, you're not my father anymore. Don't call me again."

"Dean," John said urgently, "I never told them to hurt your brother in that way. You need to remember that Sam has a tendency to exaggerate. He probably just misunderstood what was happening and his overreaction killed two good men. He was always –"

Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Sam appeared in the doorway. "Dean, hang up!" His voice was panicked.

Dean looked at him, puzzled. "Sam, what –"

"Dean, hang up." He grabbed the phone away from Dean and, ignoring John's voice, turned it off. Dropping it to the floor, he lunged for his duffle and rooted through it until he found his own cell and turned it off. "He's just trying to keep you on the phone!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "Oh, shit!"

"How the hell did he get your number?" Sam grated. His gun was in his hand as he paced quickly to the window and peered outside anxiously.

"I don't know. Damn it!"

"Do you think he traced us?"

"I don't know, maybe. Damn it, probably." Dean had his own gun out as well. "We've got to get the hell out of here."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Bobby's call went straight to voicemail and he left a message. When he hung up the phone, his lined face held a worried frown. Why wasn't Dean answering? He knew damned well the boy was worried sick about his little brother and was probably champing at the bit, waiting for word that it was okay to go to Pamela's.

So why wasn't he picking up?

John. Had he found his sons?

He pushed that thought firmly away. The boys were fine. It wasn't like they were helpless civilians. They could take care of themselves.

Bobby sighed. He wished it were possible for the idjits to come stay with him for a while and rest up – they were probably worn down with all the shit that had gone down lately - but with Walker somewhere around, it was best not to take a chance.

Damn John anyway, for setting that lunatic on his sons. And what the hell had Dean been talking about, a rapist? What damned rapist?

He would get the full story out of Dean, and soon. Dean and Sam Winchester were the closest thing he had to family. And if someone had hurt those boys, either of them, especially in that way, he was going to be having words with John Winchester – more than damned words, he would have the bastard's blood!

Too riled to settle, he grabbed his shotgun from behind the door, checked to make sure it was loaded and then walked outside, whistling for Rumsfeld. He'd take a walk around, see what he could see. And if he happened to see Walker – well, he wouldn't be missing this second chance at him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Fondling his rifle, Gordon watched sourly as Singer walked by below him, dog pacing silently beside him. Eying the big dog, he was thankful for the earlier brief but heavy rain which had washed his scent away.

He wanted to put a hole in the old bastard, and in his dog, too. What the hell was the old fool thinking anyway, running him off, protecting Winchester's demon spawn? Singer had enough years of hunting under his belt to know you couldn't take any chances when it came to monsters. If you didn't kill them today, they'd sure as shit be killing your ass tomorrow.

Walker frowned. Was it possible that Singer himself had been turned? Was he sheltering the Winchester boys because the demon had plans for the boy, not in spite of it? Walker ground his teeth in rage, eyes hot on the retreating older hunter.

He should kill the bastard now. But - if he did and the Winchester boys couldn't reach him, they might not come.

On the other hand, they might decide the old guy needed help and ride to the rescue. He chewed his lip in indecision.

In the end, his only decision was to wait, and he reluctantly watched Bobby and the dog move out of sight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A little surprised that he'd managed to make it to the Impala without getting his head blown off, Sam watched the road behind them as the Impala ate up the highway.

He could feel Dean taking quick little glances at him, trying to gauge his mood, but he didn't look back at him. He did not want Dean to know how freaked out he really was.

Damn it! Just when he thought he had a handle on this bullshit with Dad, some little thing would happen and he'd be right back where he started.

It had been a phone call, just a damned phone call, and what had he done? Turned into a helpless, whiny little crybaby needing to be rescued by his big brother. Come on, how hard would it have been to just hang up on the bastard? Or tell him to fuck off and die? Too hard, apparently, for his fragile little self. Sam snorted disgustedly, not seeing Dean's startled glance, not even realizing he'd done it out loud.

It felt like there was a goddamned target on his back; like he was surrounded by enemies, with every damned one of them fixated on killing him. Or fucking him. Or both. He brushed an errant lock of shaggy hair back from his face, hand trembling. It had been a mistake, staying with Dean. He had demon blood, for shit's sake. He was going to get his brother killed if he stayed with him -

"Jesus, Sam, the crazy is practically leaking out of your ears! What the hell is going on over there?"

Sam twisted around to face the front, fingers tapping nervously on his knee. "Nothing!"

He heard Dean draw an exasperated breath and said quickly, "What're we gonna do about Bobby? He's probably already trying to reach us."

"I've been thinking," Dean answered. "We're going to his place," Dean answered.

Alarmed, Sam whipped around to face him. "But he told us not to come!"

"Not specifically," Dean said evenly. "He just said it would be better if we didn't."

"But what about Walker? And Dad?"

"We'll deal with that if – when - we run into them." He sighed. "We gotta stop running, Sammy. So long as we run, they'll keep chasing us. If we make a stand –" his voice faltered at the thought of what, who, they'd be facing – "we can get back to our lives, not have to worry about watching our backs every minute of the damned day."

After a minute, Sam said, with a faint smile, "So, all we'll have to worry about is monsters?"

Dean laughed. "Business as usual." He reached across and pulled his brother next to him. "We can handle this. You and me - together. We can handle it."

Sam, trying to ignore his misgivings, nodded and leaned into him, feeling a little of the morning's stress drain away.

"Freaking Dad," Dean added. "I was planning on dragging you back to bed this morning. I'd like to kick his ass for that if nothing else."

Sam grinned and tilted his face up. "What's wrong with right now?"

Dean smiled back at him, feeling a familiar excitement start to curl inside his belly. He kissed Sam lightly, flicking his tongue inside his mouth, and felt his brother shudder. "Oh yeah, right fucking now." He pulled the Impala off to the side of the road.

"Sure you don't want to wait until we get to Bobby's?" Sam said, voice mischievous.

Dean looked horrified. "Oh, dude, we are not banging at Bobby's!"

Sam gave a low laugh. "So, you don't want an audience?"

Dean started to say no, then reconsidered. "Audience, maybe. But Bobby? No!" he said emphatically. "Now shut up."

"You shut up –" Sam started and Dean shut him up, covered Sam's mouth with his own, moved his lips against Sam's, licking them, nibbling them, trying to start slow, make it last, but it had been too long, the heat within him rose fast and when Sam moaned, Dean sent his tongue in deep, licking out his brother's mouth with a deep growl.

He felt Sam tremble under his hands and chuckled darkly, slipping his hands under his brother's shirt, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the floor. Sam moved against him, murmuring his name, his hands moving to Dean's belt. Then Dean felt Sam go still and draw in a sharp hissing breath.

"Sam?" Dean pulled back a little and looked into Sam's face. "What's wrong, baby?"

Sam stared through him for one frozen moment before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body fell back onto the seat.

oooooooooooooooooooo

Bobby shuts the front door behind him and crosses to the kitchen, setting the shotgun down on the hall table as he passes into the kitchen. As he goes through the kitchen doorway, an ugly blast roars through the quiet house and Bobby flies back through the door, his chest a bloody mess. 

As he lies on the hall floor, gasping for air, struggling to get up, a man drifts in from the kitchen, shotgun ready. 

"Bet you wish you'd taken that shot now, huh, Singer?" 

He fires the shotgun again, smashing Bobby's body back down onto the floor, the old man's hands outflung, eyes wide open in death. 

oooooooooooooooooooo

"Sam! Wake up!"

Sam snapped back into the Impala, hands clutching at Dean, who was hovering agitatedly over him. He drew in a deep, sobbing breath, trying to speak past the pounding pain in his heart and head. "Dean!"

"Sam!"

"Bobby!" Sam gasped. "We have to get to Bobby!"


	9. HARD CHOICES

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"Balls!" Bobby grabbed up his keys and his shotgun and barreled out the front door.

"Rumsfeld!"

Cursing angrily, Bobby let the big dog jump into the truck's cab ahead of him, then got in himself, shoved the dog to the other side and gunned the truck out of the yard.

OOOOOOOOOO

Gordon watched from his eyrie in the scrap yard as Singer roared down the long drive and disappeared down the road. After a short, internal debate, he climbed out of the car and maneuvered carefully down the stack-o-cars. Keeping an eye and ear on the road, he went to the house, picked open the lock on the back door and disappeared inside.

OOOOOOOOOO

The Impala pulled up in front of Bobby's house in early afternoon. Dean slid out of the car and surveyed the front of the house and what he could see of the yard. Nothing seemed out of place.

Stretching, he walked up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again and when there was still no answer, tried the door. It was unlocked.

Dean opened the door and went inside. "Bobby?"

The house was silent, except for the ticking of the clock in the study, and the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. He walked further into the house. "Bobby, we're here!"

Behind him, Dean heard footsteps in the kitchen and he turned to see a stranger standing in the doorway. Big and black, more than a little ragged around the edges, he carried a sniper's rifle slung across his back and a Luger in his hand, pointing at Dean's chest. "Where's your brother?"

"Not here," Dean replied easily, showing no discernible alarm.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Where is he?" He took a threatening step forward, then froze at the sound of a shotgun being racked directly behind him.

Bobby stepped into view behind the intruder and Dean stepped out of the line of fire, pulling his pistol out of his jacket. "You got him, Bobby?"

Bobby didn't answer. Face expressionless, eyes hard, he pulled the trigger. The blast of the shotgun took Walker in the back and blew him forward into the hall.

No second shot was necessary.

Shaken, but trying to remain calm, Dean moved to stand beside Bobby as they stared down at the body. "Jesus, Bobby - "

"When you're gonna shoot someone," Bobby said flatly, "Shoot. Don't talk."

Knowing Bobby was right, but sickened at the bloody mess the shotgun had made of the man, Dean nodded jerkily.

"Sam in the car?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. Laying down in the back seat, just in case –" Dean motioned to the sniper rifle. "You were right about that."

"Saw it when I ran him off before. Didn't like the idea of him lying in wait somewhere, taking a shot when you two drove in. Figured if he saw me leave, he might take a chance and come in for a close kill."

"Any sign of his partner?"

Bobby shook his head. "I took a look around; found Walker's car and where he was holed up the last couple of days. No sign of anyone else. I'm thinking Walker dumped him. He looked pretty much like dead weight to me."

Dean was still shaking a little from the adrenaline of the blast. "Shit, I'm sorry about all this, Bobby."

"No sweat, kid." Bobby gave Dean a hard grin. "That's what shovels are for." He crouched down next to Walker's body and rifled through his pockets. Pulling out a cell phone, he looked through its call history, grunted and handed the phone up to Dean. John's phone number took up all of the recent history – six calls over the last two days. With a rising sense of rage and fresh betrayal, Dean saw that the two men had spoken not long after John had called their motel room and screwed with Sam.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Bobby was leafing through a notebook he'd found in Gordon's jacket pocket. "He's got some stuff in here about Yellow Eyes. The Impala's plate number. And a description of you two boys."

Dean heard a step behind him and, turning swiftly with gun raised, saw Sam standing in the doorway, Rumsfeld panting beside him.

"I told you to wait in the car, Sam," Dean said, trying to hide his irritation. "I almost shot your ass."

Sam didn't answer. Holding Rumsfeld back from the body, he stared down at the dead hunter, eyes dark with some undefinable emotion.

"Tie him up outside, will you, Sam?" Bobby said, not looking up.

Without answering, Sam turned and left the kitchen, a hand on Rumsfeld's collar. After the two had gone, Bobby said, "He gonna be okay with this?"

Dean started to say yes but then settled for a non-committal shrug. "He's gonna have to be, isn't he?"

"Well, then," Bobby answered simply. "Let's get this party started. Corpse ain't gonna burn itself."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam stared down into the shallow grave. He watched as Dean sprinkled gasoline and salt over the corpse. Watched as Bobby threw down a lit match. Watched as the flames took hold.

We don't kill humans. No matter what they do, let the cops deal with it. 

John Winchester. Words - rules - to live by.

This death – his responsibility. And the other two? Undeniably his.

His hand, his naked blade, plunging into human flesh. Blood pouring forth, covering his hands, his arms – a shudder ran over him. His soul, tainted by the blood the demon had fed him as a child, now further darkened by the human blood on his hands. A little more of his humanity burning away with every lick the fire took at the dead hunter's body.

Stinking of smoke and gasoline, Dean put an arm around his shoulders and it took everything Sam had not to start crying, to beg Dean to save him, save him from whatever he was becoming.

Dean's big brother radar was good. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam leaned into him, not answering.

"You do get that none of this is your fault, don't you?"

Eyes lowered, Sam nodded, albeit not very convincingly.

From across the grave, Bobby growled, "Now, you listen to me, Sam Winchester! Gordon Walker was a Grade A lunatic and a son-of-a-bitch. If I hadn't killed him, he'd have killed you, your brother and me." He looked into the fire at the blazing corpse and snorted contemptuously. "Hell, he'd have killed Rumsfeld, too, just for spite!"

"So don't you go feeling guilty about something that wasn't your fault. You got enough on your plate right now without addin' that." Bobby watched as Dean's arm dropped down and around Sam's waist, pulling him in comfortingly.

Dean met the older man's eyes squarely. His arm stayed where it was.

"I talked with Pamela and told her what's going on with you, Sam," Bobby said.

Sam stiffened and Bobby amended that quickly. "I didn't tell her about the demon blood, just that you were having trouble keeping someone out of your head. You two can decide when you meet her how much you want to tell her. If you'll take my advice, though, you'll tell her everything. She knows how to keep her mouth shut, and the more she knows, the better she can help you."

He took a set of car keys out of his pocket and tossed it to Dean. "When you leave, take asshole's car with you and dump it between here and there. And make sure you wipe it down."

Dean nodded. "Sure, Bobby, no problem, but do you have any idea how Dad got my phone number? I know you'd never have told him, but it was a new cell and I hadn't called anyone but you. You think he might have some kind of trap on your landline?"

At the thought, Bobby cursed John roundly. "If he did, I'll find it. In the meantime, I got some Tracfones; you can take a couple. Don't use 'em to call anyone but me, though. We don't know who else your daddy might have got his hooks into."

Dean felt Sam flinch and then his little brother pulled away from him, saying tightly, "We better get going. Okay with you if I get the Tracs out of the house, Bobby?"

Bobby nodded. "The desk in my study, bottom drawer."

"Thanks." Sam walked toward the house, head down.

Dean looked apologetically at Bobby. "He's not really sleeping."

"I understand." Bobby looked after Sam for a second. "Tell me about John sending rapists after you two, Dean."

Dean looked away, caught by surprise.

"Come on, Dean."

"Two hunters," Dean said with difficulty. "Dad sent two hunters to kill Sam."

Bobby stared at him. There was a long pause. Finally, in a very tightly controlled voice, he said, "And?"

Voice halting, not liking to even think about how close he'd come to losing his brother, Dean told Bobby what had happened that horrible night.

When Dean was done, Bobby looked down at the grave. The flames were starting to die down. He sprinkled some more gasoline into the hole and it flared up again. "That would be Jack Deuce and Frank Sprague. I heard they were found dead somewhere down south. You sure they didn't -?"

"Sam says no. I believe him."

"Damn it," Bobby said softly. "Poor kid. I'm not gonna ask if he's okay, cause I can see he's not." He sighed. "Listen, wasn't sure I should say anything in front of Sam, but I talked to Jim yesterday."

"Pastor Jim? What did he say?" Dean was almost afraid to ask.

"Your dad called him, told him what was going on. Pastor Jim forgot his collar and told John to go fuck himself." Bobby chuckled. "Jim's never been a man to mince words."

Dean smiled faintly. "I'll tell Sam. Might make him feel a little better to know Jim's behind us."

"Well, about that," Bobby hedged slightly. "He's not too thrilled about you and Sam, uh, being together."

Dean nodded. Not too surprising, Jim being a reverend. "But he doesn't think Sam's demon spawn."

"No."

"We'll stay away from him anyway, unless we don't have any choice. I don't want him preaching at us."

"Yeah, well, you couldn't go there anyway."

Confused, Dean stared at him, then understood. "Dad's got someone watching Jim's place, too?"

"Yeah. Jim didn't realize what was going on at first. Then when I told him what John was up to over here –" Bobby shrugged. "That's why I didn't want to tell you in front of Sam. Hard for him to hear. Hell, hard for you."

Dean ignored the reference to himself. "I'll tell Sam that Jim's behind us," he decided. "But not about the guy watching for us there."

"You don't want to be keeping secrets from your brother, Dean," Bobby warned him. "It'll bite you in the ass, for sure."

"I know, Bobby, it's just – he's had a hell of a lot to deal with lately. And – he's worried about what the demon blood means. He's afraid ..." Dean trailed off hesitantly.

Bobby waited.

"He's worried it's going to turn him into a monster or something," Dean finished, green eyes pinned anxiously on Bobby's face.

After a long minute, choosing his words carefully, Bobby said, "I don't know what that demon's got planned for Sam, but I do know that Sam's a good boy –" he corrected himself – "a good man. I've known him practically his whole life and I've never seen anything that would change my opinion on that."

Dean nodded, listening hard.

"The demon blood – that's some scary shit. But Sam's got you on his side," Bobby continued. "And he's got me. No matter what happens, he's going to be all right."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It had been a long day and they were now well into the night.

About an hour after they'd dumped Walker's car, Sam fell asleep in the passenger seat of the Impala. He'd been sleeping now for almost two hours and Dean was loathe to wake his exhausted brother, but he was drained himself. He had to get some coffee and food or he'd be falling asleep at the wheel.

When Dean shook his shoulder gently, Sam roused slowly, looking around with bleary eyes. "Are we almost there?"

"We're about four hours out, but I need to stop and eat. What about you?"

Sam yawned. "Not really hungry. Coffee, maybe."

They chose a bar just off the highway in a town called Harvey. It was a dump. Actually, calling it a dump was being kind. But it was full of people drinking hard and dancing badly and the owner had apparently never heard about carding minors, so it worked for them. They managed to find an empty booth near the back and the two ate a quiet dinner.

More accurately, Dean ate. Sam mostly pushed the food around on his plate while Dean pretended not to notice.

There was a pool table in the back of the room and a game was winding up, the victor trying to talk the loser into another game but not having much luck. Sam saw Dean watching the byplay longingly. "Go ahead," he said impulsively.

Grinning, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Sure." Sam gave him a grin. "Not like we're going anywhere important."

Dean's smile faltered a little and Sam inwardly cursed himself. "I was just kidding, Dean. Really, go ahead. We could use a little down time."

Dean's face cleared. "Just one game." He started away and then wheeled around and came back to the table, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on Sam's lips. "Thanks." He ruffled Sam's hair roughly and then pulled away, laughing. Soon he and his opponent were playing, no big money involved, both men just enjoying the game.

Sam watched them play for a while. It was good to see Dean having fun for a change. Relaxing a little, he indulged himself, watching the play of the muscles in his big brother's sinewy arms as he set up his shots; the tight curve of his ass as he bent over the table.

Glancing over, Dean caught him staring and blew him a kiss. Sam smiled at him and then rose, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom. Dean watched as his brother walked back toward the bathroom, and then turned back to his game.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam used the toilet and washed up after, splashing cold water on his face. The couple hours sleep he'd grabbed had given him his second wind. Thinking about the pool table, and Dean's sweet ass bending over it, he wondered if he could talk his brother into staying over for one night, and going to the psychic chick's place tomorrow.

Or if Dean wouldn't go for that, they could drive on a little further and he could ambush him at a rest stop. Sam laughed a little, imagining Dean's surprise.

"What's so funny?"

Startled, Sam turned and saw a man standing behind him. Shit! How the hell had he not heard this guy come in? Dean would be pissed. If he told him. Which he wasn't going to.

"I said, what's so fucking funny?" The man repeated irritably.

Sam shook his head slightly and started to slip past the stranger.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Dean and his opponent shook hands, smiling. "Sure you won't stay for another game?"

Dean shook his head. "No, thanks, we've got to get back on the road. Places to be."

"It's not often I get my ass handed to me as quick as you did," the other man said jokingly. "If you come by again, look me up. We'll have a rematch."

"You got it."

"Hey!"

Both men turned at the shout. A large group of people was crowded around the door to the men's bathroom. Shouts and curses resounded from inside and as Dean suddenly remembered that Sam had gone in there just a few minutes before, a big man, a very big man, was suddenly catapulted out the bathroom door. He plowed into the crowd, taking several of them down to the ground with him.

Before any of them could get up, Sam plunged out of the bathroom after him, face contorted with rage.

"Shit! Sam!" Dean plunged into the crowd.

Snarling, Sam threw himself on top of the fallen man, ignoring the cries of those underneath him and started pounding his face, blood spurting as one of his blows broke the man's nose and split his lower lip. Dean grabbed him by the shoulder and Sam swung around, cursing, ready to pop him one.

"Sam, damn it, it's me! Knock it off!"

Panting, Sam let his brother pull him up and away from the man on the floor. Dean could see the bouncer coming through the crowd and he started to pull Sam toward the front doors. "What the hell happened, Sam?"

"Nothing!"

"Sam," Dean said warningly.

Sam jerked to a halt. "Fine! You want to know what happened? The asshole didn't want to take no for an answer!"

"No?" Dean repeated, confused.

Still furious, wanting to go back and finish kicking the jerk's ass, Sam spun around and shouted back at the man, still on the floor. "No, I don't want to suck your dick for fifty bucks! No, you can't fuck me! And yes, I do think I'm too fucking good for you!"

Dean's mouth dropped open. The bouncer, who'd come up to them just in time to hear Sam's tirade, grimaced and touched Dean's arm. "Cops are coming. Better get him out of here."

Dean nodded, casting a furious glance at Sam's assailant. Sam jerked away and headed for the front door. "Let's just fucking go!"

Outside, they got into the Impala, leaving the parking lot just as a patrol car was pulling in. Not wanting to risk trouble from the local cops, Dean kept to the speed limit and took the exit to the highway, Sam stewing angrily in the seat beside him.

After several minutes of tense silence, Dean asked cautiously, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," Sam answered shortly. "I hurt him."

"Did he - "

"I am so sick of this shit! I must have a sign on my back that says 'Hi, my name is Sam. Fuck me!"

Dean tried to hold it back, but a snort of laughter burst out.

"Stop the car!"

"Sam, I'm sorry, it just sounded funny –"

"Stop the fucking car!" Not waiting, Sam's hand went to the door handle and Dean pulled hurriedly over to the side, bringing a barrage of angry horns from the vehicles he cut off. Sam jumped out of the car, Dean scooting out right behind him.

Out of the car, Sam's anger and adrenaline drained out of him and he slid down the side of the car to the ground and sat with his arms clasped tightly around his knees, face pressed against them. Dean sat down on the ground beside him, careful not to touch him, and waited.

"He pissed me off," Sam said at last, voice muffled.

"Yeah, I got that."

They were silent for another couple of minutes, the only sound that of cars passing by on the highway.

"I'm really tired."

"I know, Sammy."

More silence.

"I don't want anyone but you touching me that way," Sam said, leaning wearily against Dean.

Dean took Sam's hand and rubbed his thumb gently over the palm. "I feel the same way, baby." He continued his slow stroking, smiling slightly when Sam's eyes closed and his breathing quickened.

"In fact," Dean continued, "I was thinking about checking into a motel, taking your mind off of all this demon bullshit. But instead, here we are, sitting on the side of the highway. Cars passing us." He paused, and then added, "Where anyone might see us."

Sam snorted and opened his eyes. "You're a fucking perv, Dean."

Dean shrugged and started to rise. "Well, if you're not into it . . ."

Sam's hand shot out and grabbed Dean by the jacket, jerking him back down. "Who said I'm not into it?"


	10. A VERY DARK PLACE

supnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupn

 

Grinning, eyes sparkling with horny anticipation, Dean started to drop down on the ground beside Sam. He stopped when he heard the sound of crunching gravel. A car pulled in close behind the Impala.

Frowning, Dean looked up to see a highway patrol officer stepping out of his car.

"Oh, crap." He gave Sam a warning nudge. "Heads up, Sammy. Five-0," he said in a low voice.

The officer, a short, tubby man with a balding head and swaggering gait, walked around his car and stopped a few feet away from them, fingers hooked casually in his belt.

"Evening, boys," he said, experienced eyes looking them over. "Not really the best place to pull over. You okay?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered respectfully. "My brother was feeling sick. I pulled over 'cause I didn't want him pukin' in the car."

The officer tilted his head, studied Sam carefully. "Haven't been drinking, have you, son?"

Sam gave the man his best sad puppy dog eyes. "No, sir. I'm just sick," he said weakly.

"Might be the flu," the officer said sympathetically. "Lot of that going around this time of year."

"Might be," Dean agreed. He crouched down in front of Sam and, unseen by the officer, gave him a wink. "You feeling any better, kiddo?"

Sam bit back a smile. "Little bit."

"Good enough to get back on the road?"

When Sam nodded, Dean rose to his feet, pulling his brother up with him.

The younger boy's long legs wobbled a bit and, for just a second, Dean admired his brother's unself-conscious artistry.

"So, you boys good to go?" the officer asked genially.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. "Thanks for stopping."

"That's my job. You drive safe, now. Get that boy home and into bed."

Dean almost choked at that. "Yes, sir, that's my plan."

Nodding a good-bye to the man, he handed his brother back into the waiting Impala, shut the door and headed quickly around to the driver's side, and the patrolman headed back to his car.

Traffic was busy. As Dean, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel, waited for a gap to open up, Sam elbowed him in the side. "Cock-blocked by a cop, dude!" he snickered.

"Quiet, Samantha. We're not out of here yet." Dean reached out and caressed Sam's thigh. "But as soon as we're out of Deputy Dawg's territory –"

Face heating up, Sam snorted and looked out the back window at the officer standing next to his patrol car, speaking into his shoulder mic.

Feeling Sam's eyes on him, the man looked over at the Impala. As he did so, a semi-truck passed, heading in the other direction. Its headlights washed over him and his eyes flashed a sudden brilliant yellow. He grinned at Sam, wide and mocking.

Sam gasped in disbelief. "Holy - ! Shit! Dean!" Shoving his door open, Sam threw himself out of the car, clumsily falling to his hands and knees. As he struggled up, the officer gave Sam a friendly salute and climbed into his car, taking advantage of a momentary lull in traffic to pull back out onto the highway and roar away, giving a peppy farewell toot on the horn.

"Fuck!" Dean slid hastily out of the Impala and grabbed Sam's arm. "What the hell? Sam?"

Stunned, Sam didn't hear him, didn't even really feel Dean's hands on him. All he could see was the gleam in the demon's eyes, his smile . . . Can't be, can't be, can't be.

Dean's grip tightened. "Sam!"

Sam finally looked at him, face white, eyes wide and shocked. "It was him."

"Who?"

Sam looked down the road in the direction the patrol car had disappeared. "The demon."

Dean's eyes widened and his hand whipped around to his back, pulling out his gun. "Where?"

"He was in the cop," Sam said numbly. "He was here. In the cop. Dean, he was in the cop."

"Oh, crap!" Dean followed Sam's gaze to where the patrol car had vanished. "Damn it!"

The patrol car, the cop, and his demon-rider, were long gone. No chance of catching up with it. And hell, he didn't even know if they should make the attempt. Instead, hyper-aware of their exposed position on the side of the road, he took his shaken brother and gently tucked him back into the car.

They sat in the Impala for several minutes; Dean frantically trying to think, and Sam sitting still as stone beside him.

"We are so fucked," Sam finally said bleakly.

Dean reached over and touched Sam's hand reassuringly. It was icy cold. "Hell." He reached into the back seat and grabbed a blanket, draping it over Sam's shoulders, tucking it in around him. "Come on, kid, we're okay."

Sam looked at him, eyes desperate. "He found me. I wasn't asleep and - Dean, he found me."

"I know this is bad, Sam," Dean admitted, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. "But we'll figure it out. We'll go to Pamela's and - "

"Oh, come on!" A tear ran down Sam's face. He wiped it away with a shaking hand. "How the hell is she gonna help? Even if she's got some way to keep that fucker out of my head, what good is that if he can find me whenever he wants to?" Sam's voice got louder, his breathing faster. "He was in a cop. A cop – " He cut himself off, tried to get hold of his rising panic.

"Sam – "

Nerves raw, Sam snapped.

"No! She can't help. You can't help! Dad was right! We're never gonna get rid of that demon, you should just fucking kill me –"

Dean grabbed Sam by the shoulders. "Don't you say that!" He shook him hard, shocking Sam breathless. "Don't you ever say that!"

When Dean, breathing hard, released him, Sam shrank back against the passenger door, as aghast as Dean at what he'd said. Pulling the blanket tightly around him, he stared at the floor, shaggy hair falling down, hiding his face.

With no idea what to say, how to make the situation even marginally better, Dean started the Impala and pulled out into traffic. He hadn't gone more than a mile down the road before he pulled over again and parked.

"Sam . . ."

Sam swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. "I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, you did." The car was silent for a little while. "That's what scares me," Dean said at last. "You've probably been thinking that for a long time. You just finally lost it enough to say it out loud."

Sam shrank even further down in his seat. "I'm sor – "

"You've got nothing to be sorry for!" Dean interrupted impatiently. "Nothing." He eyed his brother anxiously – the kid was pale, hollow-eyed and exhausted.

"Look, Sam – you're beat. You've hardly slept for days. That yellow-eyed bastard is on your ass, and what with Dad and those damned hunters – it's no wonder you're half out of your mind."

He slid across the seat to Sam. When Dean's arms closed around him reassuringly, Sam sighed and, for a long, lovely minute, let his fear go, content to rest in the strength and safety of his brother's arms.

Too soon, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head and pulled back a little. "Listen, Sam." He hesitated, knowing his suggestion wouldn't be popular. "You've got to get some sleep."

Stiffening, Sam shook his head stubbornly.

Dean sighed. He wanted to argue. The kid needed sleep, and badly, but there was no arguing with Sam when he had that face on. Besides, if a damned demon were waiting for him to close his eyes, he'd have a hard time sleeping, too.

"Okay," Dean said reluctantly. "But we're still going to Pamela's place, Sammy."

Sam didn't answer. He didn't need to. His belief that she would be completely useless showed clearly in his face.

"Look¸" Dean persisted. "Let's just try. If – when she tells us how we can keep that evil son of a bitch out of your head, then we can deal with the other thing."

"Dean, I just don't think - "

Dean placed a gentle finger against Sam's lips. "I'm driving this bus, kid. We're going. And listen, if you do fall asleep, it's okay. I'll wake you up if it looks like you're having a nightmare."

"Dean." Sam drew in a deep breath. "I'll go to Pamela's, but only –" He faltered, then went on. "Only if you promise not to let me –" what, go dark side, turn evil, kill everything in his path? Then he knew. "Dean, promise you won't let me hurt you."

"Sammy, you wouldn't –"

"Promise!"

At the desperation in Sam's face, Dean gave in. "Okay, Sammy. Okay. I promise." He tilted Sam's face up to his, kissed him. "We gotta get going. And we're not stopping until we get there."

Sam nodded and tucked himself in against his brother's side. As the Impala pulled back out onto the highway, he turned on the radio, loud, and got ready for a long night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ain't no mistakin', my body's shakin', my soul's been taken

by a Devil with a New Disguise

Aerosmith – "Devil's Got a New Disguise"

"Sammy, wake up."

Sam gave a little moan of protest and snuggled deeper into Dean's arms. "Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"Come on, baby boy," Dean coaxed gently. "We gotta get back on the road."

Sam just snuggled in deeper, then the sense of the words sunk in and he opened his eyes. "What?" He looked around, confused to find them nestled in the middle of a big queen bed. "We stopped? I thought we were gonna drive straight through?"

"I was falling asleep at the wheel. You don't remember?"

Sam shook his head and Dean laughed, kissing him on the end of his nose. "You were pretty out of it. Practically had to carry you inside."

"Oh." Sam lay back against the pillows and stretched, the sheet slipping down around his slim hips. "I guess I slept. I feel - great."

"Good. Told you, that's all you needed." Dean smirked. "I call first shower, bitch." He started to sit up, but stopped when Sam grabbed his arm.

"What's the hurry?"

The sudden huskiness in Sam's voice brought a sly grin to Dean's face. "You got something special in mind, Sammy?"

Eyes mischievous, Sam pulled Dean down on top of him. "Gotta make it up to you, missing out on highway sex."

"I might want to hold out for highway sex – " Dean caught his breath and groaned as Sam grabbed him by the ass and pulled him in close, grinding against him.

"Sammy, Jesus - "

"Dean," Sammy whispered in his ear, licked it. "Brother. I want your cock inside me."

Dean's eyes widened. Growling, he smashed his lips hard against Sam's, thrust his tongue inside his mouth and licked it out roughly. "Love it when you say shit like that."

Sam sucked on Dean's tongue, scraping his teeth across it. He dug his fingers deeper into Dean's ass cheeks, drawing another stifled groan out of him. "Come on, Dean. Come on."

"You asked for it." Dean chuckled and shoved Sam's thighs roughly apart . Licking a finger, he pressed it against Sam's puckered, twitching hole and then pushed it into him, drawing a surprised squeak and gasp.

"You like that, baby?"

Sam laughed. "That all you got?" he said breathlessly, pushing down on Dean's finger.

With a grin at the challenge, Dean slipped in a second finger and Sam threw his head back with a moan. He held still for a second while his body adjusted, then, ass clenching tight around Dean's fingers, rocked hard against him. "That – all – you got?"

Dean leaned in and licked a rough swath up the side of Sam's neck, sucking hard, using his teeth, marking him. Sam moaned and whimpered, squirming under him.

"Love it, don't you, baby?" Dean pushed in a third finger, hard and fast, splaying his fingers wide. Sam cried out, pain and pleasure taking him and Dean covered his mouth, sent his tongue in, fucking into Sam's mouth with short, violent thrusts.

Breathing hard, he pulled back, staring into Sam's face, closed eyes, mouth open, panting and gasping with need. "You're beautiful like this, Sammy," he said softly. "You know that?" Rotating his fingers, he stroked Sam's prostate.

Sam arched back with a wild cry, twisting under him, gasping. "Dean, please . . . "

Eyes intent on Sam's face, Dean shoved in a fourth hard finger, mouth curved in a satisfied smile, watching his brother quiver and shake.

Once his body adjusted himself to the new stretch, Sam shoved himself back onto Dean's fingers. His torso shone with sweat, his cock hard, slick and dripping with pre-come, slapped up against Dean's cock. Panting, Sam reached down and tried to take hold of his brother's hard, twitching dick, but Dean pushed his hand away casually.

"Dean, let me . . . "

"Sam," Dean said tenderly. "You're so good at this. Are you sure I was your first?"

Sam licked his lips, staring at Dean with confused, passion-blind eyes. "What –"

"Sammy. Sweetie." He splayed his fingers again, scraped them not so gently against Sam's inner walls, watched him writhe and whimper. "Did Dad come to your room at night when I was away?"

Sam's face twisted in a mixture of pain, lust and hurt. "Dean, no - "

"You sure? Dad never ploughed your sweet ass, baby boy?"

Dean thrust his hand into Sam even further, almost to the wrist. Sam moaned in pain and tried to pull away.

Dean held him down easily. "Where do you think you're going?" he growled. "You think I'm done here? I've waited a long time to get you under me."

He grinned mockingly as Sam's eyes widened in shocked realization and terror. "Oh, you finally got it, huh?"

"Get off me!" Sam gasped. He pushed with all his strength at Dean's arms but it was no use.

"Oh, come on, Sammy!" Dean's eyes glowed yellow. He flexed his hand, grinned as Sam cried out in pain. "Don't be such a prude. You can't tell me you've never thought about it. Big, strong Daddy John lyin' on top of you, fucking your whore brains out?"

Frantic, Sam struck out, clawing at him. Dean only laughed at his struggles, held him down and dug his hand in even further, drawing out another low, choking moan.

"Incest is incest, kiddo," Dean chided him. "If you can fuck your brother, you can fuck your father, too." He drew his hand halfway out of Sam and plunged it back in hard, twisting viciously and licked his lips with satisfaction when Sam cried out in pain.

"In fact – " Dean's image shimmered and was suddenly gone.

John beamed down at Sam. "Hey, son."

Sam screamed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam had been sleeping for a good two hours with no sign of nightmares, for which Dean was grateful. The kid was looking ragged as hell. He hoped this friend of Bobby's could help, because, Winchester or not, there was a limit to how much Sam could take.

Dean sighed wearily. God, he wished he and Sam could just shack up some place - some nicer than usual motel with a big, soft bed. Somewhere safe he could lay his sweet boy down and show him just how much he loved him. Convince him that no matter what, he would always love him, always protect him.

He felt Sam start to tremble against him, heard a little whimper. Hell. He drew his brother tighter against him, brushed his lips across the top of his head. "Wake up, Sammy. Come on, baby. Wake up."

Sam went completely still. Even his breathing seemed to stop. The next moment, with a hoarse cry, he tore himself away and flung himself to the other side of the car, scrabbling frantically for the door handle.

"What the - !" Braking, Dean quickly pulled over to the shoulder. "Sam!"

Sam moaned. "No, no, no, no." Sobbing, he wrenched again and again at the door handle but, still half asleep, didn't realize the door was locked and he couldn't get it open.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder. "Sammy, wake up!"

Sam knocked Dean's hand away and renewed his attack on the door, finally getting it open. He was halfway out of the car before Dean managed to grab him by the back of his jacket and haul him back inside.

"NO! NO!" Sam went ballistic. "Get off me, you bastard!" Screaming incoherently, he flung himself on Dean, kicking and punching.

"Shit!" One of Sam's fists connected and Dean's lip split, blood running down his chin. "Damn it! Ow! Sam!" Trying not to hurt him, but damn it, the kid hit hard, Dean shoved his brother down onto the leather seat, pinning his wrists together.

"Sam, damn it! Wake up, it's me!"

"Liar!" Wild with fear, Sam struggled against him, tears streaming down his face, he thrashed helplessly under his brother's weight. "Fucking liar! Let me go! You're not – you're not!"

"Sam, come on, baby, come back. Wake up." Voice low, soothing, heart breaking at the terror in his brother's face, Dean kept talking, trying to bring him back.

At last, limp with exhaustion, Sam lay still beneath him, staring dully at the roof of the Impala.

"Sammy?" Dean let his wrists go, touched the side of Sam's face. Sam didn't respond.

Dean said reluctantly, "I'm gonna get off you, okay?"

Sam gave no sign that he'd heard, but when Dean eased back, other than a shuddering sigh, he remained still.

"I'm gonna lean past you, shut your door. Don't freak out."

Sam nodded, at last, short and jerky. His eyes tracked just short of Dean as his brother reached past him and shut the door, then pulled back and sat down again, a couple feet away.

Dean waited. After a few minutes, Sam pulled himself up and sat hunched in on himself. His eyes, wide and haunted, jumped to Dean's bloodied mouth. "Sorry."

Relieved to see some sanity back in his little brother's eyes, Dean held out his arms, but Sam shrank away.

Dean slid slowly over and put his arms around his brother's shaking body. Sam shuddered, muttering something indistinct.

Dean lowered his head, straining to hear. "What?"

"I didn't do it, Dean. I didn't do it, I swear . . . "

"What? You didn't what?"

Sam shook his head. Tears starting again, he pressed his face against Dean's chest and now Dean could fear the heat radiating off his brother's body.

"Shit, Sam, you're burning up!" Dean swore, furious at himself for not noticing earlier.

He reached into the glove box and rummaged around until he found a bottle of Tylenol, shook out a few and pushed them into Sam's trembling mouth, then held a bottle of water to his lips.

"Come on, swallow," he ordered. "We gotta get that fever down."

Barely able to swallow without gagging, Sam somehow managed to choke the aspirin down, swayed and grabbed hold of Dean's jacket. "Dean."

"Take it easy, baby," Dean said reassuringly. "Relax. The aspirin will take the fever down. I'll get you to the psychic's house. Everything is going to be all right."

Eyes dark, defeated, Sam shook his head again. His voice was so soft it was barely a whisper.

"It's never gonna be all right. Not ever."


	11. A FRIEND IN NEED

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Sam sat slumped against Dean, head hanging, eyes glassy and unfocused.

He knew he was in the car, knew he was with his brother. He knew they were on their way to a friend of Bobby's who was supposed to be able to help them.

But Sam was also back in the house when his father had discovered him trying to run away. He was in the cemetery, burning the bodies of the dead teenagers. He was in a motel room, trapped beneath the body of the hunter he'd just killed.

Consciousness was split into fragments, jagged shards, dreams and memories. Beneath those fragments, the blood. The blood he'd seen, the blood he'd spilled. His blood, cursed, proof of the evil that lay within him.

Sam forced his eyes open wider, tried to focus.

He was so tired his body ached; so tired he was nauseous with the desperate need for sleep. But beneath the pain and nausea was the absolute certainty of what would happen if he surrendered to that need.

No.

Please. God . . .

God wasn't going to help. Not him.

Please.

Not Dean. It hadn't been Dean.

Not.

Sharp-toothed darkness nibbled at him, dragged him deeper, into fear, into chaos and terror. Too much, all too much. Last night's terror, Dean's assault, his father's body crushing him, violating him - smothering him.

Sam tried to shove it back. It was a lie. His brother would never hurt him that way. Dean would kill himself before he'd hurt Sam. And his father had never – had never -

Demons lie.

But what if . . .

Did the demon know something they didn't know about their father? Was that why John had sent those men after him? Did he want to – did he -

"Sam?"

Sam's dark head jerked up and he looked wildly around, hands raised defensively.

"Easy, kid. We're here." Dean rubbed Sam's arm, quieted him, watched the panic slowly fade from his eyes. "You alright?"

The sudden surge of adrenaline abruptly left Sam and he sagged back against the seat. "I'm fine," he said dazedly. "Where's here?"

"Bobby's friend. The psychic. Remember?"

"Oh. Yeah." Sam nodded, moving away from his brother. He managed to fumble the door open and slide out, wincing away from the glare of the noon day sun. His eyes felt like they'd been sandpapered. "Shit."

"Come on." Dean slid an arm around his shoulder.

"I said I'm okay!" Sam shrugged him away, ignoring the hurt in Dean's eyes. Legs stiff, uncoordinated, he went on toward the house, Dean close behind.

Once there, he couldn't force his legs to get him up the stairs. He made it halfway and got stuck. After a minute, Sam's legs still stubbornly refusing to do their job, Dean ignored his protests and hauled him the rest of the way up to the porch.

The front door was open, house secured only by a latched screen door. But the bass-heavy rock music was blasting so loudly inside the house that Dean had to ring the bell several times before the volume was finally lowered and the tread of heavy footsteps approached the door.

"What the hell do you want?"

Great. Dean sighed inwardly, douche bag alert sounding off loud and clear.

Tall, bronzed. Shaggy blond hair. Blue eyes. Good-looking in a "God Gave Me Beauty, What Do I Need Brains For" kinda way. He stared down his nose at them with such a snooty expression, Dean wanted to freaking smack him.

But they were here looking for help. And knocking this schmuck around wouldn't help Sam.

So Dean kept his tone even. "We're looking for Pamela Barnes."

The man looked at Dean's arm, tight around Sam's waist, and smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Dean bit out.

Ass Hat leaned against the door. "What's your name?"

"She's expecting us." No way was Dean giving this creep their name.

"Yeah, sure," Creep said nastily. "What's your name?"

"Dean," Sam slurred. "Let's just go."

He tried to turn back toward the steps, but the trip in from the car had taken most of his strength. His legs gave out and he started to go down.

"Whoa, Sam, hold up!" Dean grabbed onto his brother and steadied him until he found his feet again.

Watching, Ass Hat snickered. "Little too much to drink?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "He's sick! Is she here or not?"

"She's busy right now. How about you two girls come back later?"

Dean's face reddened. "You son-of-a –"

"Jesse?"

Ass Hat flushed and he turned away from the door as a beautiful young woman, in her late twenties maybe, with dark curly hair and beautiful cat's eyes, came up to the screen door with a welcoming smile.

"Hey! I'm Pamela. You must be Dean. And Sam." Her expression sobered a little as she took in Sam's condition; she flipped off the latch and opened the door wide. "Please, come in."

When Dean made no immediate move to come in, simply stared at Ass Hat with hostile eyes, the psychic frowned. "What's wrong? Jesse?"

Jesse didn't answer, just shrugged and left the room, a sour expression on his face.

Puzzled, Pamela stared after him. Then, puzzlement turning to resignation, she turned back to her guests. "Come on in, guys. Please. You're welcome here."

With just a slight hesitation, Dean nodded. He managed to get them both across the threshold without Sam face planting in the hall and sat him down on a chair in the hallway, standing over him protectively as he faced the strange woman.

Pamela didn't crowd them, sensing that Dean was still edgy from whatever had happened between him and Jesse. She could see that both young men were more than a little worn looking; Sam considerably worse off than his brother. Extending her special sense, she took a quick sweep over the younger boy and winced.

"Bobby told me he was in bad shape," she said sympathetically, "but I didn't realize - how long has it been since he's slept?"

"I don't think he's had more than five or six hours over the last week," Dean said. "Hey, Sammy? This is Bobby's friend, Pamela Barnes."

Sam roused. "Hi." He gazed blearily around the hall, trying to focus. "Can we go now?"

Dean tried to smile. "Hey, man, we just got here. What's the rush?"

"You're at my house, Sam," Pam said. "You're safe here." She looked at Dean, lowered her voice. "I can't do anything for him when he's like this. He's got to be rested so he can concentrate. He's got to sleep."

Voice low or not, Sam heard that and his eyes flew wide. "I'm not tired!" Glaring at Pam, he lurched up from the chair and staggered to the screen door. Yanking it open, he lurched back out onto the porch where he stood swaying drunkenly, looking around for the Impala.

Dean was beside him in a heartbeat.

"It's okay, Sammy, you don't hafta sleep if you don't wanna. But listen, just come back in. We'll get something to eat before we hit the road."

"I'm not hungry." Sam headed for the steps, then jerked to a halt when Dean caught his shoulder. "Dean, lemme go!"

Dean loosened his grip, but spoke quietly into Sam's ear. "Baby, you may not be hungry, but I'm starving. Can't we stay long enough for me to eat?"

Pam took her cue. "I've got fried chicken," she said from just inside the door. "Mashed potatoes. Gravy. A nice green bean casserole."

"Oh, man!" Dean groaned. "You hear that, Sammy? Next thing you know, she's gonna say she's got pie!"

"I do have pie." Pam laughed at Dean's pole-axed expression. "Pumpkin. With real whipped cream."

Dean looked at Sam pleadingly, only half-teasing now. "Sammy?"

With a last, longing look at the Impala, and a distrustful stare at Pamela, Sam agreed, reluctantly. "I'm not sleeping, though!"

"Yeah, kid, you said that already."

"Promise?"

Dean sighed with exasperation. "Jesus, what are you, two?"

Sam just waited stubbornly.

Dean sighed. "Okay. I promise."

Dean giving Sam what little support he'd accept, the two boys followed Pam back inside and to the kitchen, where she waved them to a table and started pulling food out of the refrigerator.

"Holy crap," Dean said in amazement. "You do have freaking pie!"

"Sweetie, I never lie about pie." Pam cut a large piece, topped it generously with whipped cream and set it in front of him. "Here, you can start with dessert while I get the rest of it warmed up."

Dean took a bite and groaned in ecstasy. "Awesome!" he said through his next bite.

She grinned at him. "I don't cook a lot, but sometimes I get in the mood. Just so happens my mood coincided with your visit." She looked inquiringly at Sam. "You want some pie, grumpy?"

Sam blinked at her, but didn't answer.

Pam cut another piece of pie, a little smaller, and placed it in front of him. "Whipped cream?"

"Sammy loves whipped cream," Dean said softly.

Sam looked vaguely at him as Pam spooned some of the cream onto his pie. He didn't make a move for his fork so Dean leaned over and cut a piece for him, guided it to his mouth.

Sam frowned and pushed the fork away. "Told you I'm not hungry," he said irritably.

"You don't have to be hungry to eat pie. Come on, don't be a bitch. Open up." He had to nudge Sam's closed lips with the fork a couple of times before the boy opened up and accepted the bite.

While Pam went to the stove and started heating up the main course, Dean went back to work on his pie, giving Sam an occasional encouraging word or nudge. Still, by the time Dean's pie was gone and the rest of the food was ready, Sam's pie was only half eaten and it was clear he was done.

Pam put a heaping plate in front of Dean. "Here you go."

Dean shook his head, looking worriedly at Sam. The boy was sitting sprawled awkwardly in his chair, staring blankly into space, clearly checked out.

"You need to eat." Pam put a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "You starving yourself isn't going to make things better for him."

"I know, but – damn it! I don't know what to do!" His hands tightened into fists. "He can't go on like this, he's got to sleep. But if he sleeps, that son of a bitch is going to screw with his head, mess him up even worse than he already is. And if I dope him up – " Dean shook his head helplessly. "I don't want to do that."

"Sam's going to be okay," Pam said reassuringly, pressing his fork back into his hand. "I can help, I promise."

Dean nodded and started to eat. In the end, though, the food turned to dust in his mouth. He put his fork down and looked contritely at Pamela. "I'm sorry. You went to a lot of trouble."

She shrugged, trying to hide her concern. At this rate, Dean wasn't going to be much better off than his brother. "No problem. I'll put it in the fridge. You can have it later. Come on, I've got a place set up for you two downstairs."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Sam was so out of it, Dean didn't even need to think of a cover story to explain why they were going to the basement.

The steps were narrow so they went down side-by-side, Dean keeping a hand on Sam's arm so he didn't take a header down the stairs and break his neck.

Once they were down, Dean looked with interest around the room, taking in the unfinished walls, the stacks of neatly labeled boxes, dusty shelves crowded with numerous bottles and jars of herbs, and faintly suspicious-looking liquids.

In the corner of the room, there was a heavy-looking door, with a peephole at eye level, and sigils painted on it of a type Dean had never seen before.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

Pam smiled proudly. She pulled the door open and they all looked inside. "This is my safe room. Walls, ceiling, floor – salt-embedded iron. Ghosts, demons, monsters - nothing gets in here I don't want in."

Dead on his feet, Sam still caught the one word that was important to him.

"I'm not a demon!"

Oh, crap. "I know, Sam," Pamela said, deeply regretting her choice of words. "This room isn't meant to lock you in. It's to keep them out."

"You're lying!" Sam, eyes wide with betrayal and panic, pulled away from Dean and headed unsteadily for the stairs.

"Sam, wait!" Stricken, Dean started after him but Pam stopped him at the foot of the stairs. "We need to get him in there, but it's better if he goes willingly," she said softly. "Forcing him isn't a good idea, the shape he's in."

Dean nodded, took a grip on himself. Calm. Keep calm. He started slowly up the stairs.

Sam was clinging to the bannister, halfway up. At Dean's approach, Sam went up another couple of steps, then stopped again, swaying dizzily.

Shit. Dean asked softly, "Sammy, sit down on the steps before you fall. I won't make you do anything you don't want to, I promise."

Sam's hand tightened on the bannister, then he sat down. Clumsily, but down.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Tried a smile. "Sam, have I ever lied to you?"

"What?" The question caught Sam by surprise, brought him a little out of his panic. Dean. This was Dean. "No. Never."

"That's right. Never. And I'm not lyin' now," Dean took a step up, encouraged when Sam just stared at him, confused. "You're tired and your head's not working right. You need to sleep."

At that, Sam shook his head violently. "No!" He swallowed back the sudden need to cry. "I can't!" Looking down into the panic room, he could see a neatly made cot and a wave of desire swept over him at the sight. Sleep - lovely, dreamless, empty sleep.

No.

Sam tried to focus, tried to think. "Dean, I can't sleep. He's waiting for me."

"Baby, you'll be safe in there. Don't you see all the protections? The sigils? Iron and salt! There's no way he can get to you in there."

Sam just stared at him indecisively.

Dean pulled out the big guns. "Listen, kid, I'm tired. I need to get some rest, too. I'll stay with you. If you have a nightmare, I'll wake you up."

Sam's lips trembled. "Why can't we just go?" His gaze swung to Pamela. "She can't help us." He tried to get up, but lost his balance and fell back down onto on his butt, drawing a startled hiss out of Dean, who sprang up the steps and knelt down, staring intently into his brother's face.

"Listen to me." Dean shook Sam by the shoulders, gently. "You listening?"

Trembling, Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Do you trust me?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He started to look away, back toward Pamela, but Dean caught his chin and forced his gaze back. "Do you trust me?"

"You're gonna make me go in that room if I say yes!" Sam cried out despairingly. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I'm not gonna force you to do anything," Dean promised. "But come on, kiddo! You don't get some sleep soon, you're gonna lose your looks and I'm gonna trade you in on a younger model!" He sank down on the steps next to his brother with a smile that almost managed to be teasing.

Sam tried to smile back, but his eyes kept skittering to Pamela, who was watching from below with calm, concerned eyes. "Dean," he whispered. "We don't know her."

"That's true," Dean agreed, eyes intent on Sam's, "but we know Bobby, right? And we trust him. You trust him?"

Sam nodded.

"So if Bobby says that Pam's okay, maybe we could give her the benefit of the doubt, huh?" Dean tilted his head to the side, gave Sam another half-smile. "What do you say? For Bobby?" A slight pause. "For me?"

Sam looked down at Pamela again. Then his eyes swung back to Dean's and fixed there. "Okay," he said in a low, defeated voice. He let Dean help him up and guide him back down the steps.

At the bottom, Sam staggered and fell against his brother. Dean grabbed him, held him up. "Sammy?"

"Dean," Sam whispered brokenly. "I can't - I'm so tired. Please. I'm so -" With a half-sob he buried his face against Dean's chest.

Without a word, Dean picked Sam up and headed for the panic room.

Pam stopped him at the door. "Hold on." She reached out to Sam's head and Dean shifted his brother away from her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

"I want to make sure he's alone in there," she said, calm eyes firmly on his.

Dean blanched. He didn't fight her when she reached out again and touched Sam's head. Her gaze unfocused and she was still for a long moment. Then she came back to herself and stepped aside. "Bring him in."

With a sigh of relief Dean carried Sam's unconscious body past her and into the panic room and laid him down on the cot. He gently pulled off his brother's boots and jacket, covered him with the thick quilt that lay folded at the foot of the cot and knelt beside him, staring into his peaceful face.

Sleeping. Sam was sleeping.

At last.

Yes.

And, if this room was all Pam said it was, if she was all Bobby said she was, he'd stay that way for a while, with no visiting dickheads to disturb him.

Dean got to his feet, turned and saw Pamela at the door with a strange, introspective look on her face, which vanished as soon as she saw him looking at her.

The two stepped into the outer basement, so as not to disturb Sam's slumber.

"You going to sleep?" she asked.

Dean shook his head wearily. "I'll stay up for a little while, make sure he stays down."

About to ask if he wanted to go upstairs and finish eating, Pamela changed gears. "I'm going to bring your plate downstairs. You'll sleep better on a full stomach."

"You don't have to bother," Dean said halfheartedly.

"If it were a bother, I wouldn't do it," Pam said, nudging him back toward toward the panic room and his brother. "I'll be back in just a minute. Oh, by the way, inside, the door in the corner leads to a bathroom. It's got a shower, if you two want to use it later."

Dean sighed. "Pam – I know I haven't said this yet. Thank you."

She shrugged, smiled. "Any friend of Bobby's . . . "

OOO

Dean finished his food this time.

He and Pamela sat just outside the panic room door while he ate, so he could keep an eye on his brother.

Sam slept through it all.

"What did Bobby tell you?" Dean asked, a little nervously.

"He only said that Sam needs help keeping something supernatural out of his head. He didn't tell me exactly what. But now, seeing him – " Pam hesitated – "feeling him, I've got a pretty good idea what's going on."

"The last week or so, it's been getting worse," Dean admitted. "Especially the last couple days. Last night," - he swallowed hard at the memory of Sam's terror – "I don't know what happened, but it was bad enough Sam won't talk about it."

"I haven't had a lot of personal experience with – them," Pam cautioned him. "Up to now, it's been mostly research and whatever I could pick up from other people. But from what I know, the protections I've got here – " she motioned around the room – "should keep him out."

"Sam can't stay in here forever."

"No, he can't. But I've got some ideas about that, too."

"Ideas?" Dean could hear the suspicion in his voice, but couldn't help it.

Pam seemed to understand. She gave him a wry smile. "There's not a lot out there on these bastards, not verifiable, at least. I'll do my best."

Dean nodded, couldn't stop the yawn that practically split his face in the next instant.

Pam nodded to the second cot. "You should get some rest."

Dean yawned again and nodded. "I'm beat," he admitted, rising.

She watched as he kicked his boots off and dropped his jacket to the floor. Ignoring the second cot, he pulled back the quilt and lay down beside Sam,

"Shall I leave a light on?" Pam gestured toward the lamp sitting on a small table next to the cot.

"Probably a good idea."

She turned the lamp on and then switched off the overhead bulb.

"Pam?"

Halfway out the door, she paused, looking back. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," Dean said with sincerity. "I mean it."

"My pleasure, Dean. " She smiled, eyes crinkling with humor. "And not just for Bobby's sake. For you two as well. Get some sleep, okay?"

As Pam closed the door, Dean curled up around Sam, pulling the quilt up over them both. Sam started to stir awake and Dean shushed him. "It's okay, baby," he whispered. "I gotcha. Sleep."

With a low murmur, Sam turned into his brother's arms and snuggled in. After a few minutes, he moved back into deeper, more peaceful sleep.

Soon after, Dean followed.


	12. TAKING BACK THE NIGHT

supnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupn

Dean lay still, reveling in the peace and quiet, and in the fact that Sam was sleeping peacefully, no sign of any bad dreams during the previous night.

That peace and quiet lasted for just under an hour, at which time Dean's never very quiet dick woke up and started demanding "me time".

Dean had a few quiet but firm words with said dick, but it wasn't very receptive, as Sam's scent and warm hard body were snuggled up close. It really wanted to wake his baby brother up and turn "me time" into "us time".

Cursing his pushy dick, Dean managed to unwrap himself from his brother's arms and exit the bed without waking him up. Almost immediately, Sam whuffled unhappily and burrowed deeper under the blanket, clutching the pillow as a poor substitute for his older brother's body heat.

Smiling, Dean found another blanket and tucked it snugly around Sam, ghosted a soft kiss across his cheek, then went in search of hot water.

The panic room's bathroom was a little snug, but it was complete, with a toilet, a small shower and a lot of hot water. After a quick shower and a shave, he felt better than he had in days. Apparently he'd needed some sleep, too.

Coffee would be good, more than good, but he'd wait until Sam was awake. He didn't want his brother waking up by himself in a strange place.

Curious, he then started to explore the warding of the panic room.

He'd seen some of the sigils before, in Dad's notebook. The predominant design, though, was one he hadn't seen before. It was drawn in varying sizes on all four walls, on the door, the floor and the ceiling.

Pam had told him during their conversation the night before that it was supposed to guard against demon possession. Though she hadn't seen it work herself, a hunter she'd known for years told her that he'd seen it work in South and Central America. "Time will tell," she'd commented wryly.

After she'd gone upstairs, Dean had a thought about the design. Would the sigil keep a demon out of humans?

Out of Sam?

If they were to make charms with this sigil, maybe paint it on the Impala in invisible paint, sew it to Sam's clothes, would it keep the demon out of not only his body, but his dreams as well?

Definitely worth talking about, not just to Pam, but to Bobby as well. If it was something that hadn't been done before, they'd test it out. He was willing to try anything to keep that son of a bitch out of his baby's head.

Dean went to his duffel and dug out a pen and piece of paper and spent the next half hour or so making a very detailed copy of the design.

Tucking the drawing away in his duffel, an uneasy sensation crawled up his spine. He looked toward the door and stiffened when he saw a pair of unfriendly eyes staring back at him.

The douchebag.

Jesse.

Not wanting to wake Sam from the first good sleep he'd had in days, Dean squashed down the angry words he wanted to shout and walked quietly to the door. "What do you want?"

Jesse stared past him at Sam. "I didn't believe it at first when he told me," he said, distaste twisting his mouth. "That's some sick freaking shit."

"What are you talking about?" Dean shifted, putting himself between Jesse and Sam, not wanting the creep's eyes on his brother.

"Fucking your brother, dude. That's all kinds of messed up." Jesse's grin was nasty. "What's the matter? Couldn't find a woman low enough to take you on?"

"Shut up!" Dean hissed. He glanced back at Sam, who was stirring restlessly. "Get the hell out of here."

Enjoying Dean's reaction, Jesse ran his tongue out and over his lips. "Still, he is kinda pretty. And he's not my brother. You want to share?"

Dean snarled and reached for the doorknob, ready to rip this guy a completely new orifice.

The door was locked.

Jesse laughed. "Problem?"

"Open the damned door!" Dean spat.

"No, I'm thinking I like this door between us." Jesse eyes slid past Dean. "Hey, morning, sunshine!"

"Dean?" Blinking sleepily, Sam raised himself on one elbow, then jerked clumsily to his feet when he saw the leering stranger at the window.

"Dean? What - ?" Sam's voice was rough with panic and confusion. "Where the hell are we? Who's that?"

"I'm the man who's getting $10,000 for one damned phone call, that's who I am." Jesse's eyes gleamed in triumph.

"Couldn't believe my luck when you pulled up. Black Chevy Impala, license plate KAZ 2Y5, two young guys driving. Dean and Sam Winchester. Damn."

Jesse shook his head at the vagaries of life, then laughed when Dean threw himself at the door, trying to get to him. "Never would've thought hanging out at that loser hunter bar would get me rich, but there you go! Never know what life is gonna hand you."

"Who'd you call, you bastard?" Dean bellowed. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Jesse's voice was mocking, insolent. "That psycho dad of yours. He put a freaking bounty out on your dumb asses. I figured if he's crazy enough to pay five, he'd be crazy enough to pay ten. And I was right."

Sam turned dead white. "Oh, God," he whispered.

"You jackass! Our father doesn't have ten thousand dollars." Dean was livid. "And if he did, he wouldn't give it to you. He's gonna kill me and my brother. Then he'll kill you, cause he won't want any witnesses."

"Oh, come on, he's not gonna kill you," Jesse scoffed. "He's gonna beat your asses, sure. Can't say you don't deserve that. If you were my kids, I'd beat you bloody."

"He doesn't kill you, I will," Dean promised, giving up his attempt on the doorknob. Now all he wanted was for this asshole to go away so he could work on picking the lock.

Jesse smirked. "Whatever. This time tomorrow I'm gonna be in Vegas and you two – well, who gives a fuck where you'll be."

He started to slam the little window shut and then the loud report of a pistol shot echoed in the basement and Jesse blinked, surprised. Without another word, he slid down out of sight and his body hit the floor with a hard thud.

Dean leapt across the room and jerked a gun out of his duffel. Afraid he knew just who was out there, he grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him to the side of the door.

Several long minutes passed. The, with a thud and a harsh gasp, Pamela appeared in the open window. Her face was streaked with blood and a massive bruise covered the left side of her face. "Hey, boys."

"Hell, Pam." Dean was horrified. "Are you okay?"

"Not so much." She laughed weakly. "Gimme a sec. I'll get you out of there." She fumbled with the lock. For a minute it looked like she wasn't going to be able to manage it, but the bolt finally slid free.

Dean waited until she moved stiffly away from the door, then he pushed it open, shoving Jesse's body along the floor with it. Putting an arm around the injured woman, he carefully supported her over to the bench against the far basement wall.

Pam put her gun down on the bench beside her and raised an exploratory hand to her head.

"Damn it," she winced, when her fingers came back bloody.

"Let me take a look." Dean sat next to her and examined the wound. "It's not too bad. Doesn't even need stitches." He smiled at her sympathetically. "Bet it hurts like a bitch though, huh?"

Eyes at half-mast, Pam gave a slight nod. "I'd kill for an aspirin," she said with a twist of her lips.

"I think we can manage that." Dean helped her up and started guiding her toward the stairs.

"Dean?"

Pausing, Dean looked back to see his brother standing just outside the door of the panic room, staring at the two of them with a wary look on his face.

"Where the hell are we? Who's she?"

A startled Dean didn't answer for a moment, then he shook his head. "Sorry, man. I guess you were kind of out of it when we got here. This is Pam, Bobby's friend."

"The psychic," Sam said slowly.

"Pyschic with a hell of a headache," Pam said wearily.

Sam nudged Jesse's corpse with his foot. "Who's this?"

"That's the man I made the mistake of trusting," Pam answered, not looking at the dead man. "Sorry about that."

Sam took another step into the main room of the basement.

"Sam, wait, stay there," Dean said. "Pam, shouldn't Sam stay in the panic room?"

Sam stiffened, alarmed. "What?"

Dean explained quickly. "The room is protected. Yellow Eyes can't find you as long as you're in there."

Sam took a quick glance back into the panic room. "I don't want to stay in there," he said flatly.

Dean started to argue, then gave it up. "Hell, it doesn't matter anyway, we can't stay. Dad's on his way here right now. We gotta split, soon as we take care of Pam and the douchebag."

"You can't stay that long," Pam said, squinting against the light. "I've got friends coming to help with the body. I called them before I came downstairs. You two need to get out of here right now."

"But Pam –" Dean sighed at the stubborn look on her face. "I don't know what Dad's gonna do when he gets here and we're gone."

"Like I said, I've got friends coming. Big friends." She reached painfully into her jeans pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, handing it to Dean. He smoothed it out and saw a phone number.

"What's this for?"

"My number. Call me when you're somewhere safe. I've got some ideas on your demon problem. When my head's not trying to fall off, I'll work on it. If I come up with something before I hear from you, I'll call Bobby." She flapped her hand at them weakly. "Go on. Get your gear and haul ass."

Dean scooped her up into his arms. "Won't take us any more time to get you upstairs. Your friends can take it from there."

"Stubborn," she said. Her smile was faint, but there.

Heading for the stairs, Dean looked over at Sam. "Get our stuff and come on, Sam. We gotta move."

Without a word, Sam went back into the panic room. Dean went swiftly up the stairs, trying to jostle Pam as little as possible. He carried her through the kitchen, which showed signs of a struggle, and into the living room. After he'd laid her down carefully down on the couch, he went into the bathroom and got some pain meds and water.

Sam came to the door of the room, arms full of their gear, and hovered there uneasily as Dean steadied Pam while she swallowed the pills.

Hating to leave Pam with this shitload of trouble, trouble that they'd brought on her, Dean leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, Pam."

The psychic opened her eyes and glared at him. "Don't make me say it again. Go."

Dean nodded and left the room, Sam falling silently in behind him.

As they pulled out onto the main road, they passed a quintet of bikers just pulling into Pam's drive, all of them big, massively-muscled and looking mean as hell.

Each of the men gave the boys a hard-eyed once-over as they gunned by the Impala. Then they were gone and Dean was pressing the accelerator to the floor.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam wasn't talking. He wasn't sulking, wasn't angry. He was nervous, afraid. He kept giving Dean these little sideways looks as if he were waiting for something to happen. A not-good something.

He'd glance at Dean then look away again, like he was afraid Dean would notice, spend a few minutes looking out the side window, drumming his fingers on his handle. Then, sure as hell, he'd be peeking over at Dean again and the whole thing would start up all over again.

Didn't do any good for Dean to try to draw him out in conversation. Sam answered in monosyllables or not at all, refusing food, water, anything at all, though Dean knew the kid hadn't had anything since the pie the night before.

The sixth time Sam's eyes slid apprehensively over to him, Dean cursed and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Sam, fists clenched in his lap, said tightly, "Nothing!"

"You've hardly opened your mouth since we left Pam's house, you won't look at me straight and you're twitchy as hell," Dean snapped. "I've known you since you were in diapers, Sam. Don't try to tell me nothing's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong." Sam dropped his eyes. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh, fuck no, Sam," Dean said. "When has that ever worked with us? The last time you hid something from me Dad almost killed you! We talk. That's how we survive. None of this hiding crap. I'm not – "

"Dean – "

" – Dad, and I don't care how screwed things are, you have to tell me – "

"Okay!" Sam shouted back. "I was trying to figure out if it was really you! Okay? Okay? I was trying to figure out if it was you or if it was that damned demon messing with me again!"

"What?" That took the wind out of Dean's sails. He blinked at Sam in confusion, then, "You couldn't just ask me?"

Sam gave him a disbelieving look and Dean rolled his eyes. "Okay. Shit. Stupid question. I get it." He chewed his lip meditatively. "So, uh, do you think I'm me, now?"

Sam shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I guess so."

When Dean gave him a hurt look, Sam flushed, guilty. "I'm sorry. It's just, that last time I woke up you were there and then it wasn't you, it was Dad and –" he stammered to a halt.

Dean stayed quiet, waiting.

Sam looked miserable. He stared into his lap, his fingers picking nervously at a hole in his jeans. "When I woke up today, I didn't know where I was. Some asshole had us locked in a basement and he said he sold us to Dad. Then he gets shot dead and some psychic chick is bleeding out and you want to leave me in the freaking basement and - and Dad is coming for us again." Sam drew in a ragged breath. "I can't tell what's real anymore," he whispered.

Dean reached out and took Sam's hand, ignoring it when his brother flinched.

"Look, I get that things are messed up right now, but I'm me. This is me. It sucks but you're just gonna hafta take it on faith. If it turns out later I'm that yellow-eyed dick, you can kill me, okay?"

Sam let out a startled almost laugh and Dean grinned. "See? Did he ever make you laugh?"

Sam shook his head, eyes shadowed; he looked at Dean, wanting very badly to believe, but afraid to hope. Afraid of what would happen if he was wrong again.

"Dean." It was not quite a question.

"In the flesh."

Sam tentatively hitched himself a little closer. Dean stayed where he was, eyes squarely meeting Sam's. "It's me, Sammy."

In one swift movement, Sam crossed the remaining few inches and threw himself into his brother's arms. Clutching the soft black leather of Dean's coat, he pressed his face into his big brother's neck.

"Dean." Sam's voice was muffled but palpably content. Certain.

With a silent, fervent, sigh of relief, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of Sam's head. "Yeah."

When he pulled back after a couple of minutes, Sam's smile was small, but real. "Do we know where we're gonna go?"

"Far and fast. That's all I'm sure about," Dean answered, rubbing a gentle thumb over Sam's cheekbone, mouth quirking as Sam leaned trustingly into it. "That's all I'm sure about. I figure Dad's not too far away, but he'll be taking the main roads, moving fast. We'll stick to the back roads."

"Are we gonna call Bobby?"

"Later." Dean started the car and eased her back onto the road. "I want to get new phones." He dug his cell out of his pocket and handed it to Sam. "Take out the battery and the chip then toss it out the window. Yours, too."

No cell phones. No way for anyone to reach them. No easy way to reach anyone else. Sam liked it. Kind of freeing.

He tossed the phones, etc., out the window, watching as they exploded on the asphalt. Something about the cell phones, though, the chips, nibbled at the edges of his brain. Something . . .

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, casting a concerned glance at him.

"Nothing." Sam chewed on it for a while, cuddled back in against Dean. "Listen, maybe we should forget about cells for a while," he said finally. "We don't know how Dad keeps tracking our numbers. Let's just – we can just use landlines when we have to."

Dean shrugged. "Works for me." He shoved a lock of hair back from his brother's face. "Feeling better?"

Sam nodded. "Sleep helped." A slight shadow fell over his face. "What are we gonna do? We can't go back to Pam's place. And even if we could, I can't stay in her basement forever."

"Why not? I'm pretty sure I could keep you entertained." Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Sam snickered. "Perv."

Dean went on reassuringly. "I got a couple ideas, babe. Get that notebook out of my duffel, will you? I want to show you something. And see if there's anything to eat in there besides your rabbit food. I'm freaking starving!"

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

They drove on through the rest of the day, putting as much road behind them as they could, mostly quiet, exchanging the occasional word or kiss.

Dean was enjoying the quiet of the back road and the music on the radio. Even knowing what, and who, still hunted them, his brother was safe beside him. That was all he needed.

Sam, after a short, still much-needed nap, stared out the window, watching the bucolic countryside fly by, thinking about the possibilities of the protection sigil and trying to figure out what the earlier conversation about cell phones and chips had shaken loose from his inner moorings.

Cell phones.. Chips. Trackers. Tracing. Following.

After a time of relatively calming free association, Sam was on the verge of sliding back into sleep when he stiffened and jerked to attention.

"Dean, pull over.

Dean didn't question Sam's imperative tone, just pulled the Impala over to the side of the dirt road they were traversing. "What is it?"

"Dean, what if it's not just cell phones? What if –" Sam looked wildly around the Impala. Then he was grabbing at the door handle and jumping out of the car.

"Dean, come on!"

A few feet away from the car, Sam grabbed Dean's arms excitedly. "What if he's got some kind of tracker on the 'Pala?"

"Come on –"

"What if that's how he keeps finding us?"

"Dad?"

"The demon!" At Dean's surprised look, Sam said urgently, "Just because he's a demon doesn't mean he can't use tech." He pointed at the car. "We gotta check her over. Maybe she's the reason he keeps catching up with us. Maybe him knowing where I am physically is what's letting him into my head when I'm asleep!"

Dean stared at him, mouth agape, then looked over at his beloved car. "That son of a bitch!"

"Let's just do it, okay?" Sam started toward the car determinedly. "We'll check under her, inside her, inside the tires – hell, we'll empty the damned trunk!"

"Sam –"

Sam stopped and wheeled to face his brother. His face was flushed, his eyes hectic. "Don't you get it? If I'm right, this is how we keep him out of my head! We can disappear. He won't be able to find us!"

Dean liked the enthusiastic determination on his brother's face; it was so much better than the morose depression that had graced him so much of late. He reached out, jerked Sam to him and gave him a quick, hard kiss, followed by a grin.

"We'd better get started then, little brother."

supnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupnsupn

 

Next chapter up in the next couple of weeks!


	13. NEW DEVELOPMENTS

All Pam wanted to do was sleep.

Sleep and cry. Sleep and try to forget the sight of her lover, dead by her own hand.

Forget the fact that he'd used her, betrayed her.

Forget that she'd been blind and stupid and so damned wrong about who he'd been.

Forget that she'd loved the bastard.

Though the living room was stuffy and warm, the curtains drawn tight against the weather and a fire burning in the fireplace, she felt cold. Probably shock, Pam thought dimly. She pulled the edges of the blanket around her and pressed deeper into the couch, trying to still her shaking.

She was halfway between waking and sleep when she was roused by the sound of soft footsteps approaching the couch. Startled, she rolled over, hand groping for the handgun under her pillow.

"Hey, babe." A streak of black earth across his cheek, Jack Morrissey crouched down beside her. "Don't shoot me, okay?"

Pam slid the gun back under the pillow. "Is it done?"

He nodded. "All done, baby girl. Cleared out all his stuff, too. Nothing left."

"Nothing left." She felt another flood of tears and struggled to keep them back, tried to smile. "I'm an idiot, huh?"

His grey eyes were sad. "Not even a little bit."

They were quiet for a few minutes.

"It's not like I didn't know something was wrong," she said finally in a small voice. "It's been wrong for a long time. Ever since he got kicked off the force, he's been – he was just so angry. At me, at the department, his friends. Even his parents."

Jack nodded, didn't say anything.

"I kept thinking if I just hang on, give him time, he'll pull out of it. Things will get better. I'll have Jesse – my Jesse – back." She lost her battle as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. "Jack, how could he do that?"

He shook his head and pulled a mostly-clean bandana out of his pocket, mopped up her tears with it.

Another quiet few minutes.

"He wanted to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. But just as I pulled the trigger he moved and – " she drew in a ragged breath. "I didn't mean to kill him. I was trying to stop him, just stop him." She closed her eyes, shook her head disbelievingly.

"Jack, I tried. I tried so hard to help him."

"Nobody could've tried harder than you, Pam. Some people just won't be helped." Jack smoothed the hair back from her face, smiled into her lovely eyes.

She looked up at him forlornly, smiled a little through her tears. "Oh, Jack, why couldn't I have fallen in love with you?"

Jack's eyes lightened and he chuckled. "Well, since I'm gayer than springtime, sweetheart, that probably wouldn't have worked out too well."

Despite herself, Pam laughed, then winced. "Ow, don't make me laugh. My head is killing me."

"You want something for it?"

She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until after he's come and gone."

Jack looked at his watch. "It's been a while. You sure he's coming?"

There was a sharp two-note whistle from outside and a moment later they both heard the rumble of a heavy diesel engine.

"Guess that answers that question." Pam was pale, but she sat up and let Jack help her to her feet.

Not liking her looks, he asked, "You sure you're up for this?"

"Yeah," she said, a little reluctantly. "I have to be."

"It's your show, babe." He put an arm around her waist and she leaned against him heavily as they walked to the front door.

When he reached for the doorknob, she put a restraining hand on his forearm. "Remember what I told you, Jack. This man is dangerous and I'm pretty sure he's crazy."

"I've heard about him before. Don't worry. It's like I told you: Cheech has got eyes on him from the roof and Bob is at the corner of the house with his carbine. This guy's not gonna get a chance to do anything."

"I just don't want to lose anyone else today."

"Me neither. You ready?"

Pam nodded. She straightened her posture, keeping just a light hand on his supporting arm, to try and hide from their visitor just how badly she was hurting. "Let's do it."

John Winchester was standing in the driveway, at the side of his big truck, when Jack and Pam came out onto the front porch.

Pam's first thought when she saw him was that she could see where his sons got their good looks.

Her second thought, when she looked into his dark eyes, was that this was one of the most dangerous men she'd ever seen.

John smiled when he saw her, though she could sense his confusion at her obvious injuries. "Miss Barnes?

Pam nodded. "There's nothing here for you, Mr. Winchester," she said baldly. "The boys left here not long after you spoke with Jesse."

He looked a little taken aback. "Do you know where they went?"

"If I did, I wouldn't tell you. But, as it happens, I don't."

"They're my sons, Miss Barnes," he said gently. "I have the right to know where they are."

She didn't answer and his face shut down. After a moment, he asked, "Is Jesse here?"

"No," she said, forcing back the swell of grief that threatened to swallow her. "And he won't be."

Something flickered in his eyes. On impulse, Pam sent out her inner sense and caught a glimpse of a blackness so dark, so deep, it almost took her breath away.

The shock of what she'd seen sent her staggering against her protector. "Jack!"

In less than a heartbeat, Jack had shoved her behind him and his pistol was out of his jacket and pointing at the hunter. In the next beat, Bob had his carbine on John and they could all hear the racking of a shotgun from the roof.

"Whoa!" John raised his hands and took a step back. "Hold on now!"

"Don't move, you fucker, or I'll spread you all over the driveway!" Cheech shouted from above.

John froze.

For a long moment, no one moved.

"Jack," Bob growled, carbine unwaveringly fixed on John. "What's goin' on?"

"Gimme a minute," Jack called back. He fixed John with a hard eye. "Stay right there."

"You got it," John said calmly.

Jack watched him narrowly for a moment longer, then, keeping one eye on John, turned to Pam. "You okay? What's going on?"

Pam, still overwhelmed by the darkness she'd so briefly touched, laid a trembling hand on his back. "He needs to go, Jack," she whispered. "He needs to go right now."

"You sure? Cause we can end it right here if you want."

John heard him. Didn't blink.

"Pam?" Jack said urgently. "Come on, girl, get it together."

Tightening her hold on her friend, Pam took an iron grip on herself and slammed down her inner vision. She took a half-step around Jack and spoke to John, with a great effort managing to keep her voice level. "You need to go. There's nothing for you here."

"I need to find my boys," John said. He smiled at her. He may have meant it to be reassuring. It was anything but.

Pam shook her head. "I don't know where they are. I didn't let them tell me because I didn't want to lie." She could see him read the truth of that in her face. Nodding, careful to keep his hands still, John backed up around the front of his truck and got in, keeping his eyes on Pam's face.

She managed to stay in place next to Jack until John's truck was out of the yard and moving down the driveway. As soon as it was out of sight, Pam said urgently, "Keep your eyes open, Jack. If he comes back, we're all dead."

She went back into the house, moving swiftly, pushing through the pain, through the fear and shock that threatened to engulf her. She grabbed up the phone and dialed a number, waiting with baited breath for an answer.

A man answered at the other end.

"What the hell did you get me into, Bobby Singer!" Pam hissed.

"Pam?"

She rode over his confusion. "John Winchester was just here and damn it to hell, Bobby, he's not human!"

SUPNSUNSUPN

The boys found two tracking devices. One in the trunk, one in the wheel well on the front right tire.

Dean was rabid. He destroyed the devices, then stuck his brother back in the car and drove another two hundred miles before pulling over and searching the car again.

And then again.

He refused to let Sam help with the second search. Whoever had placed the trackers on Dean's car had touched his pride at the most basic level and he was determined to do this particular job himself. Because if he couldn't make himself believe that the Impala was clean, safe, he'd have to leave her.

And, besides Sam, she was the one thing he had left in the world that he simply couldn't bear the thought of losing.

Dean found no bugs on the second search.

Mostly silent – even after their rest the night before, they were both still exhausted – the brothers drove on, crossing over into Texas in the early hours of the next morning.

In a shabby diner on the side of a secondary highway, they ate a mediocre breakfast; Sam mostly ignoring his plate of runny eggs and toast; Dean morosely pushing a slice of greasy bacon around his plate.

Finally, pretty damn sure he knew exactly what was going on in his brother's guilt-wracked brain, Sam said. "No, Dean."

Startled, Dean looked up. "Huh?"

"We're not getting rid of the Impala." Sam smiled faintly at the expression on Dean's face. "What? You're not that hard to read, brother."

"Sammy, what if I didn't find all the bugs? I don't think we have a choice - " Dean pushed his plate away, feeling nauseous just at the thought of losing his beloved car.

"We have a choice," Sam interrupted. "We can dump the Impala and lose the only real home we've ever had – "

Dean winced.

"Or," Sam went on logically, "We can trust that we found all the bugs and move on."

His older brother stared at the table, face lined with unhappiness and indecision.

"Come on, Dean, you practically stripped her down to the frame. You found everything there was to find!"

"Sam – "

"I don't usually fight you, Dean. You're the oldest. I trust you to take care of us. But I'm sick of getting pushed around by these bastards. We're not giving her up."

Dean looked searchingly into Sam's eyes.

Apparently he found what he was looking for, because after a minute he snickered. "Bossy bottom."

Relieved, Sam leaned back in his chair. Taking a quick look around the room, he casually spread his legs. "Well, this bossy bottom is feeling a little neglected." He swiped his tongue teasingly across his lower lip and smirked when he saw Dean's eyes darken.

"Pushing your luck a little, aren't you? This is Texas, not San Francisco."

Sam lazily ran a hand up his thigh, just barely brushing against the bulge at his crotch. "You know you love it."

Dean leaned across the table. "Let's get a room and I'll show you how much I love it," he said in a low voice. "Nine inches worth, baby boy."

Sam froze, eyes fixed on Dean's.

Dean gestured to the elderly waitress for the check.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

There was a small motel next to the café. It was nothing much to look at from the outside, but the room more than made up for it by having a king-sized bed.

After they'd gotten their gear inside and warded the room, Dean asked, "You want first shower, Sammy?

Mouth dropping open in an exaggerated expression of shock and surprise, Sam cowered away. "Christo!"

Rolling his eyes, Dean smacked his brother on the head. "Smart ass. I wanna call Bobby, let him know we're okay. Make sure Pam's all right."

"That can wait a few minutes." Sam snaked an arm around Dean's waist and grabbed a handful of his ass, smirking at his gasp. "Come on. We can shower together." He nuzzled the side of Dean's throat, took a quick, exploratory lick. "Save water."

Dean wavered, then his common sense got the better of him. He gave Sam a quick, rough kiss and stepped back.

"Soon as I talk to Bobby, I'll be in. I don't let him know what's going on, he'll kick my ass for sure next time we see him."

Pouting a little, Sam gave in and walked to the bathroom, making sure to give his ass a little extra swing on the way. He had the added satisfaction of feeling his brother's eyes on him all the way.

((((()))))

Sam stuck his head under the spray, enjoying the rhythmic beat of the water, letting it rinse away the shampoo and watching through half-closed eyes as the suds swirled down the drain.

Hip shot and relaxed, nearly dozing, when the water started to cool, Sam realized he'd been in the shower for a lot longer than a phone call to Bobby should have taken. Unless something was wrong.

Pam?

Worried now, he turned off the water and cocked his head toward the bathroom door, listening.

Nothing. No sound of Dean's voice, or the television.

Moving fast, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the next room.

Dean sat on the side of the big bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He looked up when Sam came in and to his confusion and horror, Sam realized that his brother was crying.

Shaken, he sat down on the bed beside him. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean shook his head, unable to speak.

Sam clasped the back of Dean's neck. "Dean, tell me." He felt tears pricking the back of his own eyes at the sight of his brother's distress. Dean didn't cry. Dean never cried.

"Dean, please."

Dean straightened and sniffled. He wiped his face, not looking at his brother. "I should've known."

"You're scarin' me, man." Sam's voice was shaking. "Tell me."

Dean drew a shaky breath and raised his eyes to Sam's. Sam caught his breath at the look of utter desolation in his brother's eyes.

"It's Dad."

Sam's breath caught. "He – is he - ?"

"I talked to Bobby - Bobby said – " Dean stopped, pain and guilt burning through him. "Pam said that Dad's possessed."

Sam stumbled up, grabbing at the towel around his waist. "Wh – what?"

"Dad showed up at Pam's, looking for us. She read him with her psychic shit." Dean shook his head despairingly. "She said he's possessed. By a demon."

"But how?" Sam stammered incredulously. "When?"

"I dunno." Dean stood and went into the bathroom, Sam trailing after him, stunned.

Dean leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water into his face. "I should've known," he said in a low voice, guilt dripping from every syllable. "I should've known ."

"Dean – "

Face dripping, eyes wild, Dean turned to face his brother. "Sammy, we gotta save him."

Sam's mouth worked but nothing came out.

"Sam, don't you see?" Dean said desperately. "This must be why he tried to kill you, why he sent those hunters after you. Dad would never hurt you, or me. This has to be the answer. He was possessed by some fucking demon. Maybe the demon."

"But we don't – " Sam didn't want to say it, but it had to be said. "Dean, we don't know when the demon took him. It could have been when we were still with him, but –"

"But what?"

"What if that's not what's going on here? What if we find him and exorcise the demon and Dad still wants to kill me?"

"Don't you want it to be true?" Dean's face flushed with hurt and anger. "Don't you want Dad back?"

"Of course I do," Sam protested. He reached out and took Dean's hand, squeezed it. "I do." He nodded determinedly. "This is great news. All we have to do is find him. Bobby can help us get the demon out. I know he can."

Dean grabbed him in a huge hug, then broke away, laughing. "Damn, I guess we shouldn't have busted up those bugs, huh? Not if we want him finding us."

Sam laughed and if his laughter was a little half-hearted, Dean didn't notice. Almost glowing with relief, he said, "I'm gonna go call Bobby back. I hung up on him before."

At Sam's nod, he said, "Come on, Sammy, get dressed. I'll grab a shower after I call Bobby, then we'll get going."

He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Unable to believe how fast, how completely, things had changed, Sam dropped down to sit on the toilet seat, hands clenched together on his thighs.

He was glad.

He really was.

Knowing that John hadn't tried to kill him willingly, knowing his father didn't want him dead?

This was a good thing.

The problem was, Dean hadn't followed the facts all the way through to their inevitable conclusion.

If John was possessed and they were able to get the demon out of him, did Dean think Dad would be okay with them being together? As a couple?

No way. He'd tell Dean they had to stop.

Despair filled him and he looked at the door that separated him from his brother.

Dean had tried to keep from Sam how much it had hurt him to leave John, but Sam knew. Underneath the rage and the fear and the horror over what John had done, Dean still loved him. Hell, worshipped him. With this new development, this opportunity to save his father and erase the horror of the past few months - that would be all Dean could see.

Dean loved Sam. Sam knew that, with every fiber of his being. But if this worked and Dean had to choose again between Sam and his father . . .

Dean banged abruptly on the door. "Come on, Sam, let's go!"

"Coming." Sam got up slowly and started to pull on his clothes.

Now wasn't the time to be thinking about this. He'd wait, see what happened.

It could take them weeks, months, to find their father.

And who knew if the exorcism would even work?

Sam was ashamed to find himself wishing, just a little, that John would stay gone.


	14. BEST INTENTIONS

SUPNSUPNSUPN

 

Dean talked all the way to Bobby's house, filled with a wild, manic happiness. He ran the radio full blast, singing along to the music and using the steering wheel as a drum set, barely able to sit still in his seat.

Sam kept a few spell books open on his lap during the drive, flipping through the pages, looking for whatever he could find to help pry the demon out of their father, pretending that's what was keeping him so quiet.

A couple hours out from Bobby's Dean pulled off the highway into a small strip mall and parked the Impala in front of a Radio Shack. "We need to get back on the radar," he said to Sam. "I'm gonna pick us up a couple new cells."

Sam hadn't even had time to get used to being off the radar yet. He watched Dean bop into the store with something like regret for that untasted freedom.

Phones purchased and under way again, the boys christened both phones, calling Bobby and staying on for several minutes, talking about nothing in particular. John would have his ears out and word would get to him his sons were heading there.

When they finally pulled into Bobby's in the early evening, he gave them each an assessing stare, then sat them down at the kitchen table and put bowls of stew in front of them, with a big plate of biscuits between them.

"Eat, jackasses."

Dean groaned when the smell of the stew hit his nostrils and fell on the food like a starving wolf. Sam didn't have much of an appetite, but when Bobby gave him the stink-eye, he gave in and started in.

After a few minutes of silent eating, Dean mumbled, mouth full of stew, "We gotta talk about how we're gonna find Dad, Bobby."

"That's not gonna be a problem. I've had something stuck to my shoe the last couple days. Gotta be John, or someone connected to him."

Dean swallowed. "Shit, already?" he said, astonished.

"Most likely someone he put on me, just in case you two came back."

"You haven't seen anyone?" Sam asked.

Bobby shook his head. "Could be anyone. After what happened at Pam's, pretty clear John's put the word out about you two."

"Huh. Well, that's good, I guess." Dean snagged another biscuit and smeared it heavily with butter, staring into space as he chewed over the situation.

"How is she?" Sam asked, stirring an idle spoon around in his stew.

"Pretty shook up," Bobby said frankly. "Just knowing demons exist is scary. Coming face to face with one – well, she's stayin' with friends 'til we get this taken care of."

"Hiding won't save her. She'd be better off helping us, especially after what her boyfriend pulled."

"You mean the man she killed to save your ass?" Bobby snapped.

"Come on, Sam," Dean said, surprised at his brother's snarky remark. "She was only helping us out in the first place 'cause Bobby asked her to."

Sam cut a sideways glance at Bobby and shut up, crumbling a piece of biscuit in his fingers.

Dean cast around for a quick subject change. "Hey, Bobby, did you know Pam's got a supernatural panic room?"

"A what?"

Dean's face blossomed with enthusiasm.

"Shit, can't believe I didn't tell you before. Pam has this panic room in her basement – salt, holy water, iron walls. Completely warded against anything supernatural. It's freaking AWESOME!"

"No shit!"

Dean grinned at Bobby's astonishment. "I told Sam you'd be making one of your own as soon as you heard about it."

"Damn right I will," Bobby agreed with a far-away look in his eyes.

Sam kept quiet, listening as Dean and Bobby talked over the ins and outs of putting together a panic room in Bobby's basement, then moved on to discuss various wards and sigils, whether or not they'd work to keep demons out of humans.

He was ashamed of his earlier outburst. Pam had done her best. She'd just been over her head. Pam wasn't the problem. He was the problem. Him and his damned addiction to his brother.

Sam stared longingly at Dean's smiling face, imagined the feel of his body tight against him, the taste of his soft, plush lips. He needed to taste those lips, needed to feel those arms around him, needed it so badly he could hardly think.

He needed to know that they were going to be all right, no matter what happened with their father. Cause right now, it sure as hell didn't feel like it.

Seeing Bobby's gaze on him, Sam flushed and rose, taking his bowl to the sink.

Dean broke off from his conversation with Bobby. "Where you goin'?"

"Thought I'd go check out some of Bobby's books, see if there's anything we can use for, uh, Dad." Sam stumbled a little over the word.

"There's a pile next to my desk I was working through," Bobby said helpfully, willing to forgive Sam's earlier dickish behavior. "I went through my library, those look like they got the most to offer."

Sam managed a small smile. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby watched the boy leave, then looked sternly at Dean, who was staring after his brother. "What's going on with him?"

"What?" Dean said, a little defensively. "He's fine. Maybe a little tired? It's been pretty rough."

"Rough? Dean, Sam's father tried to kill him. A couple of psycho hunters tried to kill him. The kid's got demon blood inside him and a demon's been haunting his dreams. And now maybe that same demon is on its way here to claim Sam's soul." Bobby reached out and gave Dean a quick cuff on the back of his head. "Rough."

Bobby could practically see the wheels turning in Dean's face, the quick reevaluation of the situation. Guilt and shame surfaced. "I'll talk to him, Bobby."

"Good."

After a moment, Dean stood and, mumbling something about getting their duffels out of the car, left the house.

With a rueful shake of his head, Bobby stood up from the table and started ferrying the dirty dishes to the sink.

Hell. And he hadn't even brought up the thing that he was damned sure was bugging Sam most of all.

The boys' "special" relationship.

He was surprised Dean hadn't picked up on that aspect of breaking their father free. Bobby could see traces of it in Sam's eyes every time he looked at his brother. Grief and what maybe looked like betrayal.

Things had changed.

These two boys had always been all about the touching. Even before sex had entered the mix, they were always hanging on to each other - little pushes and shoves, casual hugs and touches, wrestling, sparring, the occasional violent battle.

Brother stuff. Normal, for them.

Not today. The two hadn't touched each other at all since they'd got here.

Bobby was dead sure Sam was aware of it. He was even more sure Dean wasn't.

Bobby shook his head. He was on board with getting that bastard demon out of John. No question. But that other stuff? No way in hell he was getting mixed up in that snarl.

The boys would have to deal with that shit on their own.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Kubrick lowered the binoculars and let out an excited laugh.

It was the Winchester boys, all right! Black Impala with two boys in it, one blond and one dark.

He gave a fist pump and a little happy dance. Ten grand, here I come!

Didn't need Gordon to do it, either, Kubrick thought maliciously. Gordie really dropped the ball on this one.

Not wasting any more thought on the missing hunter, Kubrick pulled out his cell phone, searching through his contact list. When he found the name, he punched it in and waited, listening to it ring on the other end, foot tapping impatiently.

After about eight rings, the other end was picked up and a deep, gravelly voice answered. "Yeah."

"That reward still good?" Kubrick asked coyly.

There was a short silence. "Did you find my boys?"

"License plate KAZ 2Y5, right?"

"Where are they?" The tone was menacing.

"Not so fast, Winchester." Kubrick grinned, bouncing on his toes, positively gleeful at having the legendary hunter at his mercy. "What about my money?"

"You'll get your money." The deep voice had turned flat and expressionless. If Kubrick's brain hadn't been pickled by booze years ago, he might have been able to read the promise of death in that voice.

"Tell me where you are. You'll have it as soon as you show me my sons."

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam closed the book and shoved it across the desk to join the fifteen other rejects he'd already pored through.

The material was interesting, yes, but it held nothing he hadn't seen in the others. The most interesting, if not effective, spell he'd seen all night had been one for summoning a leprechaun.

He yawned; exhausted, but in no way inclined to go back to their bedroom.

Sam had seen Dean watching him when Bobby had finally bullied them upstairs to bed. He'd thought, hoped, that Dean wanted to talk. Or, something else.

But when Sam came out of the bathroom after his shower, Dean was sprawled across his bed in his boxers, already sound asleep.

After lying awake for hours listening to Dean breathe, Sam had finally given in. He'd stumbled downstairs and dug into Bobby's library again, determined to find something, anything, that would give this rescue a fighting chance.

He might even be willing to give that leprechaun a shot . . .

With a weary sigh, he leaned over and pawed through the books on the floor next to the desk, searching for the tattered grimoire he'd seen earlier but hadn't cracked open yet.

"Sam?"

Bobby, ball cap still on even at this late hour, stood in the door of the study, shotgun in hand. "What the hell, boy? Thought you went up with Dean."

"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said guiltily, eyeing the shotgun.

Bobby shrugged. "Told you I'd keep watch tonight."

"Didn't mean to wake you up," Sam apologized. "Couldn't sleep."

The older man looked at the half-empty coffee cup on the table. "Might be easier to sleep if you weren't fulla coffee."

Sam flushed, then gave the older man a rueful smile and gestured at the books on the desk. "I've been trying to find the best way to exorcise the demon. There's a few exorcisms that look good, but who knows if they'll work or not? We can get him inside a devil's trap, but if it doesn't work, what are we gonna do?"

"We keep him inside it until we figure it out," Bobby said. He went to the desk and turned off the lamp, leaving nothing but the faint glow from the fireplace.

"Come on, back to bed. Won't do yourself any good staying up all night."

Sam got up reluctantly. "I don't want to wake up Dean. I'll sleep on the couch."

Bobby shifted the shotgun to his other arm and studied the boy's shadowed face. After a minute, he said gently, "You're gonna have to talk to him about it sometime, boy."

Startled, Sam ducked his head. "Bobby . . . "

"That's all I'm sayin' on the subject," the older man said hurriedly. He went to the closet and pulled out a blanket, tossing it to Sam. "Here. Now get some sleep."

SUPNSUPNSUPN

The couch didn't prove to be any more conducive to sleep.

Toward dawn, Sam found himself standing over his brother's bed.

Eyes intent on Dean's sleeping face, he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it to the floor, toed off his shoes and socks, then wriggled out of his jeans and slipped naked onto the bed.

Hovering over Dean, knees planted outside his brother's thighs, trying not to wake him, Sam gently worked Dean's boxers down over his thighs and calves, pulled them over his feet and tossed them to the floor.

Dean made a little murmured protest at the sudden chill, but did not wake.

Sam breath grew heavy in his chest at the sight of Dean's cock lying asleep between his legs. He bent over and reverently took the tip into his mouth, gently sucking at it, reveling in its familiar and slightly bitter taste.

He took in more, humming as Dean murmured and arched under him. Sucked harder, working up and down its length, tongue slipping along the thin vein on the underside, moaning as Dean's cock thickened in his mouth and nudged at the back of his throat.

"Sammy?"

Dean raised himself up on his elbows and stared down at Sam in heavy-eyed confusion. "What – shit, Sam, not here!" He pushed Sam's head away, pulling his dick out of his little brother's mouth with a wet, slurping pop.

"Dean, it's okay, the door's locked," Sam said, eyes dark with passion. "Don't worry." He leaned down to take Dean's rapidly deflating cock back into his mouth, then fell back in surprise as Dean rolled away and off the bed.

"Damn it, Sammy, not – I'm just – not here!" Quickly locating his boxers, Dean pulled them back on. "I'm sorry, man."

Sam stared at him for a long minute. Then, without a word, he jumped up and pulled his clothing back on, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull his socks and boots back on.

Dean sat down next to Sam and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, baby, it just feels wrong here."

Sam didn't look at him. He stood up and started for the door.

"Sammy, don't leave, man - "

Sam spun on him, the words he had been determined not to say spilling out of his mouth. "Are we done?"

"What? No! I just don't –" Dean fumbled for words. "Not in Bobby's house."

"Fine," Sam bit out. He turned for the door again, then back. "When's it gonna be right? When Dad's back?"

Dean flinched and Sam gave a bitter laugh. "You think he'll be okay with us together? You think he doesn't already know?"

"Sam, please, don't," Dean whispered.

Part of Sam was screaming for him to stop, but hurt and rejection kept his angry words going. "You think he's gonna be fine with us sharing a bed, Dean?"

Dean shook his head dumbly.

"Yeah, I don't either." Sam's voice was shaking. "Are we gonna leave him, go out on our own again, after we get him free?"

The stunned look on Dean's face was its own answer.

"Shit." Legs giving out, Sam sat down hard on the floor. "Shit."

"Sammy," Dean said, begging his brother to understand, "Dad's gonna need us, at least for a little while."

Sam shook his head, breath hitching, tears starting. "You, Dean. He's gonna need you. He's not gonna want me anywhere near him."

"That's not true." Dean crouched down beside him. "Sam, we're not –"

"Never mind. Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything," Sam said, voice drained, not looking at him. "Should've kept my mouth shut."

"Sam, don't." Feeling helpless, not knowing what the hell else to do, Dean sat down beside Sam and tugged him into his arms.

The two sat there for a long time.

At last, exhausted and wrecked, they stumbled back to Dean's bed and lay wrapped around each other until morning. There was no more talk of everything being okay.

How could anything be okay when every breath they took felt like good-bye?


	15. A HARD RIGHT TURN

Kubrick hated mysteries. He didn't have the brain power, or the attention span, to solve them. That was one of the many reasons he'd partnered up with Gordon. The man was a prick, yeah, and mean as shit, but he was smart.

Today's pain-in-the-ass unsolvable puzzle: Why in hell wasn't Gordon answering his phones?

Kripke had called Gordon's cells – all of them – over the last few days. All of them had gone directly to voicemail. That wasn't like Gordon.

Not that he was worried about his old partner – Gordon was one bad dude, after all – but it was weird the man hadn't picked up any of his calls, if only to tell him to fuck off.

Shivering inside his threadbare jacket, Kripke stared morosely toward Singer's house, at the smoke curling lazily up from the chimney.

Fuckin' bastards were all warm and toasty in there, probably eating a good breakfast while he - he looked at the half-eaten Slim Jim in his hand and stuffed the last of it into his mouth, chewing savagely.

What the hell. Once he got his money, he was heading to Vegas. Wouldn't take but a few hours to get there from here. Then he'd be the one warm and toasty. He'd get himself a room, no, a suite, in one of those fancy hotels. Get a steak and a bottle of good whiskey. And a woman.

A smug smile played around the corners of his thin mouth. Contemplating the pleasures to come, he didn't have time to do more than blink when a pair of strong hands gripped the sides of his head and twisted, breaking his neck in one swift, decisive movement.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Bobby didn't know exactly what had happened between the boys the night before; he just knew it hadn't been good.

He'd heard the shouting, caught enough to know what they were arguing about. Knew that Sam had finally got up the nerve to confront his brother about what would happen once they freed their father from the grip of the demon.

From the younger boy's shadowed, angry eyes, Sam hadn't been happy with the answer.

When Bobby came in from outside, rubbing his hands against the chill of the early morning, the Winchesters were sitting silently at the kitchen table, half-empty cups of coffee in front of them.

"You two ready?" he asked gruffly, trying to ignore the palpable tension in the room.

"Yeah, we're good." Dean gave his brother a quick sideways glance, then shifted quickly back to Bobby. "You really think this'll work?"

"It's our best shot." Bobby shrugged. "Only shot, really. And it's probably the only chance we'll have to shake John loose of that demon without killing him."

Sam huffed out an impatient breath. "It's a bad plan. The exorcism won't kill the demon, he's too strong. The most it'll do is expel him. He'll be back."

"We'll deal with that when we come to it," Dean said, his voice nearly a growl. They'd already gone over this, a few times. He was in no mood to hash it out again. Bobby was right. It was their only option.

"It might kill Dad, Dean."

Dean's mouth tightened. "I think Dad would rather be dead than ridden by a demon," he said after a tense moment. "Don't you?"

Sam nodded reluctantly.

"Okay, then." Dean rose to his feet, determination in every line.

Sam shook his head, mumbling something indistinct.

"What?" Bobby asked.

"I said, 'I still don't like it'!," Sam repeated, coloring angrily at Dean's look of exasperation.

"You got a better idea, then spit it out!"

Slamming both fists down on the table, Sam jumped to his feet, face red with frustration. "What the hell does it matter? You've already made up your mind!"

"Sam, if you don't –" Bobby began.

Sam cut him off with a furious wave. "Forget it!" He stomped out of the kitchen. Dean followed, with Bobby close behind him, the older man cursing under his breath.

They caught up to him at the front door and Sam spun to face his brother. "Screw it!" He shoved an astonished Dean back into Bobby. "And screw you, too!"

SUPNSUPNSUPN

John dumped the corpse in the trunk of the car and slammed the lid, wiping his hands fastidiously on his jeans.

Playtime was over. Time to bring Sam Winchester in.

He'd like to play with him some more – damn, that boy was fun to mess with! - but orders were orders. He'd already pushed it as far as he dared.

Maybe, after he delivered the younger boy to his fate, he could have some fun with Dean. John smiled to himself. That had some definite possibilities.

A door slammed in the distance and he heard loud voices. Eyes bright with eager anticipation, he moved toward the house.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

"Sam, just wait a freaking minute!"

Fists clenched, Sam faced off against his brother in the middle of the yard. "You said it would be us, always," he said accusingly.

Dean swiped an agitated hand through his spiky hair. "Damn it, Sam, this isn't the time – "

"When is the time?" Sam laughed raggedly. "When Dad's back?" His voice ratcheted up even higher. "You promised it would be just us! But the first chance you get, you go running back to him!"

Dean's face darkened. "That's not fair."

"Fuck fair! You lied to me!"

"I never – "

"Bullshit! You're going back to Dad, gonna let him call all the shots. It won't be you and me anymore, it'll be you and him. I'll be on the outside, just like before!" His voice broke.

Dean held out a hesitant hand. "Sammy . . . "

Sam's agitation increased."You won't even touch me anymore!"

Dean flushed and glanced sideways at Bobby, who was watching from a few feet away. "Sammy, calm down."

"What the hell are you worried about? Bobby already knows!" Sam said in disbelief. "Jesus, Dean, Dad knows! Everybody knows! Get over it!"

Dean blanched, but he knew it was the truth. Whatever the demon knew, the imprisoned vessel knew as well.

Why that made a difference now, he didn't know. He'd been operating for weeks with the knowledge that John knew about them. But, for some reason, knowing that John found out that truth as a prisoner in his own body made it somehow worse.

Pushing that aside for the moment, ignoring Bobby, Dean crossed to Sam and took him into his arms, ignoring his stiff unwillingness, desperate to take away the pain in his brother's eyes. "Baby, please."

For just a moment, Sam almost accepted the embrace, almost let himself believe that everything would be okay, that he'd still have his lover at the end of all this.

Then he steeled himself and pulled away, eyes dark with pain. "If I have to lose you, I'd rather do it now." He turned and walked quickly away across the yard.

"Sam!"

Dean started after him and Bobby grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. "Give him a minute," he said quietly. "He'll be okay."

Dean wasn't too sure about that. Hell, right now he wasn't sure about anything, Sam least of all.

With a last glance after his retreating brother, he turned and reluctantly followed Bobby back into the house.

Across the yard, Sam disappeared into the garage. The big garage door crashed down and silence fell over the yard.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

John crept through the garage, following the sounds of hoarse, ragged breathing.

Rounding the side of a beat-up red Ford pick-up, he saw Sam sitting pressed into a corner in the back of the garage, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, head tilted back against the wall and eyes shut tight.

Intent on his prey, John drew closer, carefully avoiding the car parts and other debris littering the ground.

"Gonna lose him." With a hoarse, aching croak, Sam pressed his face against his knees. "I'm gonna lose him."

Now just a few feet away, John deliberately kicked an empty oil can across the floor. It skidded into Sam's boots and the boy raised a pale, tear-stained face.

"Hey, Sam," John said. "Miss me?"

Sam wiped a jacketed arm across his eyes. "Not so much."

"You shouldn't have run, boy." John's tone was contemptuous. "Just gonna be that much harder on you."

"I'm used to hard."

John leered suggestively at this son. "I'll just bet you are." He laid a hand on the gun thrust into his belt. "Let's get going. Won't be long before Dean comes looking for you."

"No," Sam said wearily.

John's eyes narrowed. "Don't want something bad to happen to your brother, do you?" He took a menacing step forward then came to an abrupt, baffled halt. "What the hell – "

Sam looked at the ceiling. Frowning, John followed his gaze.

A devil's trap was painted on the ceiling directly above him.

John's eyes snapped back down to Sam. "You little shit. How the hell did you know?"

Sam looked past John. "Hey, guys."

The big man spun to see Bobby and Dean standing several feet away. With an angry bellow he threw himself at the invisible barrier of the trap, bouncing back at the edge and nearly going to his knees.

"Shit, I can't believe it!" Dean said in mocking amazement. "It worked! I thought we'd have to throw out our line a few times and here we get the big fish first time out!"

John glared fearlessly at them. "Screw you."

"Ew, gross. No, thanks." Dean looked past his father to his brother. "Good job, Sammy."

Sam got heavily to his feet. "Let's just get this done."

"Get what done?" John sneered. His eyes hardened when Bobby stepped forward, pulling a small, worn book out of his coat pocket. "What's that?"

"Guess," Bobby answered sardonically. He smirked as John hissed out a curse.

"Dad, if you can hear me," Dean stepped forward to the edge of the trap, "We're gonna get you outta there."

"How do you even know he's still alive in here?" The demon spat at them. "He's been pretty quiet lately."

"You'd better hope he's alive," Dean said, eyes cold. "If he's dead, even Hell won't be able to hide you." He nodded to Bobby. "Go ahead."

Clearing his throat, the old man started to read out loud.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio . . . "

"No!" John threw himself against the barrier again, falling back as Dean threw a stream of holy water into his face. "No!"

". . . omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica . . . "

"No! NO!"

Face grim, Bobby raised his voice against the demon's screams. "Adjuramus te. Cessa decipere humanas creaturas,eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare . . . "

Howling with pain and fury, John twisted to face Sam, who flinched back, pressing himself against the wall.

"This doesn't change anything," the demon hissed under the lash of the exorcism. "You're still ours! You'll never be free – " His back arched with pain and he fell to the ground, gagging, when Dean threw more holy water onto him. Panting for breath, John kept his gaze on a frozen Sam.

"You will beg for death," John gasped, Bobby's stern voice almost drowning him out. "But He will not grant it." Eyes bulging, he groaned gutturally, clutching himself in agony. "You will serve – you will serve – "

. . . Benedictus deus. Gloria patri!

The demon's poisonous spew cut off as Bobby shouted out the last of the exorcism. With a final maddened roar, the big man rolled onto his back and a noxious black cloud burst out of his open mouth, funneling into the air above them.

"Dad!"

John slumped into unconsciousness as the demon left him and shot out an open window, a helpless, unearthly scream trailing behind it.

"Dad!" Dean leapt forward, panicked eyes on his stricken father.

Bobby hauled him to a stop. "Hold on!" He looked warily at the motionless man. "Try the holy water again."

"Bobby, he – "

"Damn it, boy, do it!" Bobby barked.

Hand trembling, Dean poured the last of his flask over his prostrate father.

John didn't move.

With a gasp, Dean threw himself onto his knees next to his father and thrust trembling fingers against his neck. After a few seconds his shoulders slumped and he looked up at Sam, green eyes shining with tears of relief. "He's alive, Sammy!"

Sam tried to smile. It felt stiff and unnatural on his face but Dean, focused again on his father, didn't notice.

Muttering ragged reassurances, the older boy raised his father up to a shaky sitting position. The older man's head was drooping.

"Dad? Dad?"

John remained insensible. Dean looked desperately at Bobby. "Help me get him into the house."

With a quick look at Sam, who'd yet to budge from his corner, Bobby nodded and the two men awkwardly wrestled the big man to his feet, supporting him between them to the open side door of the garage.

At the door Dean stopped and cast an anxious look over his shoulder at his brother. "Sammy?"

Face pallid, dark eyes huge, Sam raised an unsteady hand, waving them on. 'I'm okay. Go on with Dad. I'll be there in a minute."

Uncertain, Dean hesitated.

"I'm okay," Sam said again, trying for normal. "Go."

"Sammy, come on."

Sam was saved from having to argue with his brother when John groaned weakly. "Dean?"

Dean's face lit up. "Dad!"

"Dean." John looked blearily at his eldest. "Son, what's - ?"

"Dad, it's okay, it's gone, you're free!"

"Can we have this reunion inside, Dean?" Bobby grunted. "He weighs a ton."

The three of them left the garage without another backward glance.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Desperately glad to be alone, Sam closed his eyes and sagged against the garage wall, the demon's final words echoing in his head.

You will serve.

You will serve.

Serve who? Serve what?

A wave of nausea swept over him and with a violent spasm his morning coffee and a side order of bile rose swiftly in his throat to spew out onto the ground.

When it was over, he stared stupidly down at the mess on the ground, then shuddered and made his way out of the garage. He stood in the yard, halfway between the garage and the house, breathing in the cold air and trying to clear his brain.

Sunday . . . it's Sunday.

I should find a priest. Confess . . .

Confess what? That I have demon blood? That I'm destined to lead an army of the damned to destroy humanity?

He almost laughed out loud at that. He could just see the poor, set-upon priest, confronted with the reality of Sam's pathetic life.

"One way trip to the funny farm," he muttered.

He considered, briefly, that avenue of escape. It would be hard to lead a demon army from a straitjacket.

Not that Dean would let him stay in one for long.

Dean.

He was losing Dean.

John would talk his brother around to it. He'd always been able to talk Dean into anything. And now that he had the excuse of a demon being the one that had tried to kill Sam, and not his father, Dean would see the wisdom of dumping his demon brother.

After all, sticking with Sam would only get him killed. Or worse, dragged to Hell along with him. Because that's where Sam was going to end up. Demon blood - well, that pretty much guaranteed him an express ticket down under, didn't it?

A sharp wind blew through the yard and he shivered, zipping up his jacket. He'd stick it out, long as he could. He'd stay with his family until he couldn't stand it any longer. Then – he didn't know what then.

He looked resignedly toward the house. Might as well go in. Face it. Face Dad. Rip that band-aid right the hell off, like Dean had taught him.

There was the soft scrape of a boot behind him and a voice, thick with anger and smug satisfaction.

"Turn around, you fuck!"

Startled but not at all surprised, Sam started to turn. He heard a shout from the house, then an explosion.

Sam's world turned white.


	16. ANOTHER HARD CHOICE

It was a long trip back.

John could hear muffled voices that came in and out, but it was hard to focus on them. His brain was a kaleidoscope of tortured, fragmented images, endlessly replaying, driving him back into the darkness.

Someone raised his head and held a cup to his mouth. The cup nudged his lips open and tipped some water in. He choked a little before his body remembered how to drink, then he gulped thirstily.

Water. Sweet, cold and wonderful. It pulled him back a little bit more from the darkness. He hung there, uncertain and afraid.

"Dad?"

John managed to pry his eyes open just enough to see Dean hovering over him.

"Dad!" Dean's face broke into a relieved smile.

"What . . . what's happening?"

"You're all right, Dad," Dean reassured him. "We got rid of that fucking demon."

"Demon?" his father mumbled, confused.

"Don't you remember?"

John stared uncomprehendingly at him. Slowly, painfully, his splintered memories startled to coalesce. With a sudden, painful jolt, they came together and he closed his eyes reflexively, gagging. "Oh, God."

Dean squeezed his father's hand. "Dad, it's over now."

"Never, I would never hurt you boys," John said desperately. He struggled to rise.

Dean pressed him back down onto the couch. "Take it easy, Dad. Give yourself a minute."

"Where's Sam?" John demanded.

Bobby appeared behind Dean. "He's outside. He'll be in soon."

"Bobby."

John's voice held a fervent plea, something Bobby had never heard from him before. Pity in his eyes, he nodded. "I'll go get him."

John lay back and listened to Bobby's footsteps as he left the study and paced down the hall toward the front door.

"Dad?"

John looked apprehensively at Dean. "Sam – is he . . ."

Dean's face held a complex mix of worry and guilt. "He's pretty messed up, Dad."

"I need to see him, Dean, I have to tell him – "

"SAM!"

Bobby's shout echoed throughout the house, the report of a gunshot following close on its heels.

"Sam!" Dean wrenched his hand from John's grip, yanking his gun out from underneath his coat. As he bolted from the room, the boom of Bobby's shotgun filled the house.

Dean came out the front door at a dead run. When he hit the yard he staggered and went to his knees, heart slamming in his chest at the sight before him.

Still and bloody, Sam's body lay in the middle of the yard, Bobby standing frozen in place beside him.

"Sammy?" Gun falling to the ground, the taste of fear bitter in his mouth, Dean sprinted to his brother and dropped to his knees beside him. "No, no, no."

"Jesus." Eyes blown wide with shock, Bobby's shotgun hung loose in his hand. "Jesus."

Dean stretched out a shaking hand and touched Sam's face. "Sammy?"

There was a clatter from the fence in the scrap yard as someone scrambled up over it and fell with a thud on the other side.

Growling, Bobby swung up his shotgun and let off a blast in that direction. "You murdering bastard!"

The blast didn't even register on Dean. Brain stalled, heart frozen, he stared down at his motionless brother. "Sam?"

Sam didn't wake. Didn't open his eyes. Didn't grin up at his fool of an older brother, laughing at the terrible trick he'd played.

Unable to move, unable to breathe, Dean's brain raced frantically, trying to find a way out of this unspeakable hell. This couldn't be. Couldn't.

A tentative hand touched his shoulder.

Dazed, he looked up. Bobby stared down at him, face set in harsh, grief-stricken lines. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so damned sorry."

"No. No." Dean leaned over and kissed his brother's bloody lips. "No."

"Dean." Bobby crouched down beside them. His mouth trembled as he looked into Dean's shattered face. "Let's get your brother into the house."

Dean ignored him, his entire being focused on Sam.

Struggling to hold it together, Bobby grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Dean. Let's get Sam into the house."

Dean looked around the cold, barren yard and at last nodded. Bending over, he picked up Sam's upper body and waited until Bobby took his feet. Then, together, they staggered toward the house where John clung to the front door, his face a ghastly white.

As the two men passed him with their terrible burden, John looked into Sam's lax face and his heart broke.

Mary. Our boy. 

"Shut the door," Bobby grunted. "And fuckin' lock it.",

Mind reeling, John fumbled the door shut and slid the bolt back, then followed them unsteadily into the study, tears flowing unchecked as his youngest was laid on the couch.

Leaving the Winchesters standing over their boy, Bobby moved quickly to pull the curtains over the windows. Once he was sure they were hidden from the outside, he strode back to the couch.

"Dean, go get me some hot water and clean cloths," he ordered brusquely.

Dean looked at him dully. "What?"

Bobby drew in a ragged breath. "Your brother's alive, Dean."

"Alive?" Dean stared down at Sam, a fearful hope rising in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, boy. I'll explain in a minute. Don't waste time. Go. Hot water. Clean cloths."

With a last desperate glance at Sam, Dean ran out of the room.

Bobby leaned over Sam and pulled back an eyelid. He grunted in satisfaction.

Legs shaking underneath him, John leaned over the couch and laid a trembling hand on Sam's throat. Feeling a weak but steady pulse, he glared at Bobby. "What the hell?"

Ignoring the glare, Bobby went to his desk and rummaged in one of the bottom drawers for his medical kit. "Right now we three are the only ones who know that Sam is still alive," he said tersely. "We need to keep it that way."

SUPNSUPNSUPN

The silence was dark and sweet. Sam couldn't see, couldn't hear. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, because he didn't hurt anymore.

He floated, warm and safe.

At peace.

After a time, things changed.

He lay inert on a sandy beach, basking in the heat of a midday sun, a soft breeze caressing his body. There was the sound of distant gulls on the air and the comforting pulse of the ocean.

He remembered nothing, knew nothing, was nothing.

He drifted.

Peace.

After a time, things changed.

"Sam?"

Sam opened his eyes.

He lay in the middle of a lush green field, rife with flowers in full bloom.

A single bee flying by paused and hovered in front of him for a long moment. They studied each other. Then Sam sat up and climbed to his feet and the bee gave a kind of friendly little dip in the air and buzzed away.

Eyes following the tiny creature's progress, Sam's gaze drifted over a somewhat larger creature.

"Sam?"

His gaze tracked back and rested on a golden-haired woman sitting a few feet away in the middle of a large white tablecloth.

She smiled, blue eyes glowing with happiness. "Hello, sweetheart."

After a little puzzling, Sam said, "Mom?"

"I've waited a long time to meet you," said Mary Winchester.

Sam stared at her for a beat, then his gaze floated away again, following the progress of a pair of gamboling rabbits. Presently, he caught a peripheral movement and looked over to see his mother opening a large picnic basket. She smiled at him again. "Hungry?"

Sam wasn't. He wasn't really anything, but when she started lifting food and plates and glasses out of the basket and setting them out on the tablecloth, he drifted over and sat down beside her.

She handed him a glass and he took a sip. Chocolate milk.

"I love chocolate milk."

"I know." She carefully arranged a pretty assortment of finger foods onto a paper plate and set it in front of him. "Eat up, now."

He stared blankly at the plate until Mary guided his hand to one of the sandwiches, then ate quietly, watching her.

"Am I dead?" he asked at last.

"No." Mary selected a piece of thickly-frosted chocolate cake and placed it on a plate.

"Are you dead?"

She sighed and folded her hands into her lap. "Yes, Sam. I am."

Puzzled, he cocked his head to the side. "Why are you here? Why am I here with you?"

"Because it's been so very long since I've seen you." Mary hesitated. "Because I wanted to see you before you go back."

"Back?" Sam chewed that over. "Back where?"

Her smile held a hint of sadness. "Back to your brother."

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Bobby reached across the bed and laid a hand on Sam's forehead. It was as cool and fever-free as when he'd checked it an hour ago.

The wound hadn't been as bad as it had first appeared.

Sam had a concussion and a deep graze that promised one hell of a headache when he finally decided to wake up, but nothing more serious than that. Bobby couldn't find any reason for the boy to still be unconscious. Strike that. No physical reason.

He looked over at Dean, waiting impatiently on the other side of the bed for the verdict.

"Sam's fine, Dean. The I.V. is keeping him hydrated. You, on the other hand, look like hammered crap."

"Come on, Bobby! It's been three days!" Dean's eyes were red-rimmed, shadowed with exhaustion. "Why isn't he waking up?"

Diplomacy wasn't Bobby Singer's strong suit; tact not a close-held friend. But, knowing just how little sleep Dean had gotten over the last few days, and just how worried he was about his brother, he chose his words carefully.

"A few nights ago, you two had a pretty big blow out."

Dean's face went blank with surprise.

"I'm not askin' what it was about," Bobby said. "I heard enough to get a good idea."

Dean opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, unexpected tears filled his eyes.

"Sam was afraid that breaking John away from that demon would break up the two of you," Bobby went on doggedly.

Dean took a shaky breath and nodded. His eyes fell on his brother's sleeping face and a single tear escaped, skating down his cheek. "I had to do it, Bobby." His voice was hoarse. "I had to get Dad away from that demon."

"Hell, boy, course you did. I never expected anything else. Whatever else he is, he's your father. You'd never be able to live with yourself if you'd left him like that. Sam knows that."

"I told Sam it would just be until we got Dad on his feet again, but he didn't believe me." There was more than a little hurt in Dean's voice.

"He wanted to believe you. But I'm guessing Sam doesn't think he's worth the sacrifice."

"That's crap!" Dean was furious. "Sam's worth anything! Everything!"

"Dean, just look at it from your brother's point of view. He's got demon blood inside him and he's slated to lead some damned demon army. You think he likes puttin' you in the way of that?"

Dean huffed out an angry breath. "Like any of that matters to me."

"It matters to Sam. He's scared he's gonna get you killed. And with John back – that act he put on for the demon a few days ago, that wasn't an act. Your brother thought you were gonna choose to go back to your old life. Back to your father."

"Well, he was wrong." Dean's eyes flicked to the open door, listening to the silence in the rest of the house.

The silence, John's silence, was deafening. He hadn't said a word about the two boys' relationship, but his unspoken protest hung thick in the air whenever he came into the room, which wasn't often. The deep, unhappy confusion in his eyes said more than anything he could have said out loud.

Bobby sighed. He was full up, for now, with Winchester drama. "I'm gonna go get something to eat. Once he wakes up, you two need to talk. And this time, you need to make him believe you. For now, why don't you see if you can get some sleep, so when Sam does haul his lazy ass outta bed you'll be awake for it?"

With a final check of Sam's I.V., Bobby left the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Dark eyes bleak, Sam put his sandwich down. "Dean doesn't want me anymore."

"Oh, sweetie, you know that's not true." Mary lifted a forkful of chocolate cake to his lips and watched with satisfaction as he ate it. "Good, isn't it? It was Dean's favorite, when he was young."

Sam frowned. "Dean likes pie."

His mother laughed, a clear bell-like sound. "Dean likes everything. But he loves you." She laid a hand on his knee. "Can't you hear it?"

Sam started to shake his head, then stopped, brow wrinkled. He could hear – something. A slight buzz at the edge of the world. More a low drone than anything else.

"What's that sound?"

Mary didn't answer. She just watched him, hands folded loosely in her lap, a trace of sadness in her eyes.

Sam concentrated on the sound, trying to sort it out. As he listened, the noise gradually separated into sobs and broken words.

sorry – come back – you and me – we – love you -

Dean.

A lance of pain arced through his head and he gasped. "Mom?"

Mary put an arm around him and pressed her face against his shaggy head, holding him steady until the pain lessened.

"I don't know what to do. I can't do this anymore, Mom. I can't." There was no self-pity in Sam's voice, only a deep well of black despair. "It hurts there. Everything hurts, all the time."

"I know, love." Mary hugged him even harder, tears pooling in her eyes. "You need to talk to Dean. Tell him what you want. Things will get better, I promise."

Sam shook his head. "He'll leave me. He's all I've got."

"Oh, sweetie. Haven't you been listening? You've got nothing to be afraid of."

The utter conviction in her voice stilled the fear in Sam's heart. The certitude in her eyes gave him the strength to at least hope.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, sweetheart." Mary smiled through her tears. "But I've kept you here long enough. Listen, Sam. Just listen."

Keeping her face in his heart, Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on the voice inside.

_samsamsammysammysammysammysammy ___

__Things changed._ _

__Sam opened his eyes._ _


	17. ENDINGS

John Winchester was the world's biggest jackass.

Bobby had known the other man for the better part of twenty years. He knew full well the depth of the man's obsession with destroying the demon that had killed his wife. But, old fool that he was, Bobby'd thought that after the events of the last year - hell, the last week - that the man would finally realize that his sons were more important than his damned hunt!

He knew John was ticked about the boys sleeping together. Hell, it was something any father would have trouble dealing with. But this father needed to get past that, get his head out of his ass and let his sons know that he was still their father.

The demon was gone. It was time for the Winchesters to be a family again.

The old man growled and poured another few inches of whiskey into his glass, sipping it morosely, as he thought over John's behavior of the last few days. The obsessed bastard hadn't spent more than a minute or two with Sam since they'd moved the boy upstairs. He was ducking Dean on the rare occasions the older boy came downstairs, and doing a damned fine job of avoiding Bobby as well. He seemed to be on his cell phone every time Bobby managed to catch a glimpse of him and that made him just a little bit uneasy.

He upended the bottle and let the last inch dribble into his glass. After he drained it, he rummaged around in the bottom drawer of the desk and found it empty of the "just in case" bottle he normally kept there.

"Hell fire," he muttered balefully.

"What's wrong?"

Startled, Bobby's hand moved reflexively toward the shotgun propped against the side of the desk.

"Whoa, it's just me." Hands raised, John stood at the door, an odd mixture of guilt and defensiveness on his normally assertive features.

Bobby hesitated, stared at John for a long hard moment. The man looked exhausted, his face showing every second of his forty-odd years. Bobby almost felt bad for him - the man had been through almost literal hell over the last few months. But beneath the exhaustion and pain, he stank of hidden agenda.

Bobby set his glass down on the desk with a decisive click.

"John, why the hell are you still here?"

"What?" John frowned, confused.

"Why - are - you - still - here?" Bobby said again, an edge to his tone.

John gestured toward the ceiling. "Sam . . ."

"You've hardly set foot in that room the last three days. If you're so damned worried, why aren't you in there now?"

"Dean . . . "

"Don't try to tell me Dean don't want you in there," Bobby said acerbically. "That boy's worn down to the nub worrying about his brother. He needs you, whether he says so or not. But he's afraid to say anything, 'cause you've made it pretty damned clear you aren't happy him and Sam are paired up."

"Bobby, they're - " John flushed a dull red, unable to think of a word that would describe his sons' relationship without the older man knocking him on his ass.

"They're your sons. That's the only thing should matter to you."

"It's wrong." John said stubbornly. "Sick."

"It is what it is. You'd best make your peace with it, or you'll lose them."

"That won't happen. Dean wouldn't have left me if I hadn't tried to hurt Sam," John said with certainty. "Now that demon's out of me, he'll come back. And he'll bring Sam with him."

"And then what?"

John glared at him, saying nothing, but when Bobby made an impatient gesture at him, he said reluctantly, "Dean will see sense, even if Sam doesn't. It's partly my fault, keeping them away from other people. I won't make that mistake again. I'll let loose on the reins a little. Once they start hanging out with kids their own ages, with girls – "

Bobby burst out laughing. Shaking his head, he got up from his desk and went to the sideboard, dug around and found a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Pouring a stiff shot into his glass, he then filled another and shoved it unceremoniously into John's hand. "You are seriously fucked in the head if you think that's gonna work. You're never gonna pry those two apart."

John said nothing, just sent the shot back with a shudder.

A hostile look in his eyes, Bobby nudged John hard in the shoulder, ignoring the angry growl sent back at him.

"I don't know what else you got goin' on, John, but I know goddamn well you're up to something. I'm watching you."

With a snort of contempt, John grabbed the bottle of Jack and made for the door.

"John!"

John spun to face him. "They're my sons!" he said angrily. "Not yours! Mine!"

"Well, then," Bobby said, "Start acting like it. Jackass."

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam's head hurt, there was a sharp pressure just this side of pain in his forearm, and he needed the bathroom, bad.

None of that mattered, because when Sam pried open his woozy eyes, Dean was looking right back at him, a wide, relieved smile on his face.

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean squeezed his brother's hand tight. "About time you woke up, you little bitch! You scared the crap out of me!"

"Dean, what – " Confused and a little frightened, Sam said, "What happened?" His voice was hoarse.

"It's okay, man." Forcing back his relieved tears, Dean said, "You got shot, baby. Some prick shot you for the reward the demon put out on you.

"Shot?" Stunned, Sam's hazel eyes left his brother and wandered around the room, seeing evidence of a siege all around him. Dirty dishes on the bedside table. An armchair shoved up against the bed, with a blanket trailing over it. A makeshift I.V. stand and a bag of saline hanging from it, with a thin tube trailing to a needle in his own arm.

Damn, his head ached. He raised a tentative hand and touched the bandage on his head. "I don't remember a thing."

"Yeah, well, head wound ." Dean eased the needle out of Sam's arm, giving an apologetic grimace when Sam winced. "It's not bad; asshole just creased you. For a minute, though" – his laugh was shaky – "Jesus, Sam, I thought you were dead."

Overwhelmed, Sam lay quiet, blinking up at the water-stained ceiling. Then he grimaced and started to lever himself up onto his elbows.

Quick as a wink, Dean was pressing him back down onto the bed. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"I'm thirsty and my head hurts." Sam shifted uncomfortably. "But if I don't get to the can now, I'm gonna pee all over you."

Dean gave a surprised bark of laughter. Little snorts of relieved amusement kept trickling out as he escorted Sam to the bathroom. Over Sam's objections, he hovered outside the open door while his brother relieved himself and, when Sam stumbled on the way back to his room, Dean put an arm around his waist, taking most of his weight. "You okay?"

"Just got a little dizzy. Leggo, I can walk."

"Forget it. Shot and unconscious for three days, remember?"

"Dean, I'm fine."

Dean brushed Sam's dark hair back from his face. "Shaddup, princess, or I'll carry you."

"Dean – " Sam broke off. Behind Dean's teasing grin, he could see evidence of the strain of those three days. "Fine," he said grumpily, giving in.

Back in bed, Sam lay back against the pillows, feeling drained. "Water?"

Dean picked up a bottle from the bedside table and handed it to his brother. "Take it slow." He watched Sam take a couple of careful swallows. "How's your head?"

"It's fine."

Dean gave him a skeptical look.

"It just aches a little," Sam said. "And I'm tired."

"You need some more sleep?"

Sam's smile was small, but real. "Rather hang out with you. You can tell me what's going on."

Dean grinned back at him. "Not much to tell. You've been asleep three days and I been climbing the walls. That's pretty much it."

"Is, uh, Dad still here?"

"As far as I know."

Sam tried to glean something from the non-expression on Dean's face, but there was nothing to be had. "What does that mean?"

"It means I haven't seen him for a couple of days," Dean answered. "But Bobby hasn't told me he's gone, so he's probably still here."

Sam wanted to be upset about John's less-than-stellar paternal behavior, on Dean's behalf if nothing else, but he couldn't find the energy for it.

Luckily, Dean didn't seem to want to spend any more time on the subject either. "Sammy, you hungry?"

"Uh uh."

Dean's face fell and he rubbed his stomach involuntarily. "Okay, maybe later."

Belatedly remembering the mostly uneaten food on the dishes beside the bed, Sam said, "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

"Dean . . . "

"All right, all right, I'm freakin' starving. I feel like my belly's got one of those aliens trying to eat its way out." Dean hesitated. "Will you be okay if I go grab something to eat from downstairs?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure you don't want something? You haven't had anything to eat for a few days."

When Sam shook his head, Dean eyed Sam uncertainly and sat down on the bed next to him. "I'm gonna wait a while. I'm not that hungry."

"Dean, I'm fine." Sam rolled his eyes. "Go, before you start chewing on me."

Dean made it as far as the door, then stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

When he didn't move, Sam said, "Dean? You okay?"

Dean nodded, not turning around. A little choking sound escaped him.

Alarmed, Sam started to get out of bed.

"Shit." Dean came back to the bed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Sorry."

Sam snagged his hand, looking anxiously into his face. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean's shoulders slumped. "It's been a long three days," he said softly. "You – " His voice broke and he sat back down heavily on the bed.

"Dean, I'm here. I'm good." Eyes intent, Sam rubbed his thumb caressingly over the back of Dean's hand and was rewarded by the lessening of tension in his brother's body. "We're good. Yeah?"

"Yeah." It was Dean's turn to look down. "Uh, Sam . . . ?"

When he didn't continue, Sam prompted,"What?"

"I'm sorry, man." Dean finally looked up at him. "Sorry for letting you think that I was gonna dump you and go back to hunting with Dad."

Sam lost a little of his smile. "Dean, you don't have to –"

"Yeah, I do," Dean insisted. "It was just – all I could think about was getting that damned demon out of him. I had to do it. I – I just should've talked to you about it first, so you'd know –" he shrugged – "that we were good. Bobby said something about it, but - it just never occurred to me that you'd think I'd leave you."

Sam didn't want the conversation to get too heavy; the two of them had enough to deal with right now. But, as much as Dean had needed to say what he had, Sam had something to say, too. "I'm sorry, too, Dean."

Dean just looked confused. "About what?"

"I should have believed in you," Sam said simply.

Dean grinned. He could feel it, too wide and way too sappy, but he didn't care. Sappy was here to stay, for a while. "Thanks, Sam." Chuckling, he leaned in and brushed his lips over Sam's. "I think maybe I'm not so hungry anymore." His lips moved down to Sam's jaw line and worked their way up to his ear. "At least not for . . . "

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "I could get behind that," he murmured.

There was a soft knock on the door and the two pulled apart, startled.

Bobby stuck his head in and beamed when he saw Sam sitting up.

"Damn, boy! About time you woke up!" He came to the bed and tested out Sam's forehead, nodding in satisfaction at the lack of fever. "How's your head?"

"I'm good, Bobby." Sam gave the older man a heartfelt smile. "Thanks for patching me up."

Bobby patted his shoulder. "Well, it's not like I could've let you bleed out in the front yard." He motioned to Dean. "This one's woulda torn me a new one."

Dean snorted. He went around the bed to the table and started gathering up the dishes. "I'm gonna take these downstairs, get a sandwich or something."

"Nah, don't bother." Bobby took the dishes from him. "I got a pot of chicken stew going. Should be ready in about half an hour. Think you can wait that long?"

"Yeah, sure, Bobby. Thanks."

"Good. But do me a favor, will ya, kid? Take a shower." He sniffed the air exaggeratedly. "It's getting' a little ripe in here."

Dean made a rude gesture, then grinned mischievously. "Hey, Sam, want to join me for a

'shower'?" He made exaggerated little quotation marks in the air.

Bobby looked horrified. "Damn it, Dean! Don't ask, don't tell only works if you DON'T talk about it!"

"Ah, come on, Bobby! I promise not to let Sam get his head wet!"

Bobby choked. "Dean, do not make me get my gun."

His threat was accompanied by an emphatic smack to the back of Dean's head and the older boy laughed.

Bobby's hand patted Dean's shoulder fondly, then he turned back to Sam. "Seriously, though, Sam. Hold off on the shower. We don't want the bandage gettin' wet. If you want to, you can take a bath, but be careful."

"Okay, Bobby."

Taking the pile of dishes from Dean, Bobby started to leave, but turned at the door. "Listen, boys, John wants to see you two."

He saw Sam stiffen and said quickly, "I told him he'd have to wait until you were ready. I just wanted you to know he's asking."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, casting a reassuring glance at his brother.

Bobby nodded. "I'll bring the stew up when it's ready, Dean. You stay up here with Sam."

"You don't have to do that," Dean protested. "I can come downstairs and get it."

Bobby shook his grizzled head firmly. "You stay up here." He waited for Dean's nod of agreement, then said, pointedly, "Shower, Stinky." and left the room.

There was a little bit of awkward silence after the door clicked shut behind the older man. Dean said cautiously, "You okay with seeing Dad?"

"Yeah, sure, of course," Sam said at once.

Dean looked at him. "You used to be a better liar," he said wryly.

Sam flushed.

"You get that it wasn't Dad that tried to have you killed, right, Sammy?"

The younger boy nodded, but he wasn't quite meeting Dean's gaze.

"Listen, Dad can be a dick, no question. But trying to have you killed? I really think we have to put that on the demon."

Sam was silent, staring at his lap, pulling at his fingers nervously.

"Sam?"

"Why would the demon want me dead?" Sam asked carefully. "He said he wanted me for his army."

It wasn't quite a protest, not quite an accusation of John, but Dean paled. It took him a moment to gather a reply. "I don't know, Sammy. Maybe he decided you weren't gonna do what he wanted. Maybe he's just a crazy fucker. I don't know. But Dad says the demon took him six weeks before we split, when he was off hunting that werewolf in Louisiana."

He grasped Sam by the shoulder, waiting until the boy met his eyes. "Sammy, I believe him."

Sam dropped his eyes again and tried very hard not to think thoughts about disloyalty. About betrayal. Dean was many things, but disloyal wasn't one of them. It just wasn't in him.

All right. Fine.

Sam didn't trust John. He couldn't. But he could trust Dean to know what he was doing. He met Dean's worried eyes. "Okay. But maybe we could wait, see him tomorrow?"

"You don't think this is one of those 'rip the band-aid off fast' kinda things?"

Sam laughed, yawning in the middle of it. "No, I think this is one of those 'I'm starting to feel really freaking tired' kinda things." He gave another gigantic yawn. When it was over, he could hardly keep his eyes open.

"You okay, baby?"

Sam's energy level had plummeted, but he tried to pull together a smile for his lover. "Did I ever tell you how much I love it when you call me 'baby'?" He yawned again. "Crap, sorry."

"It's okay. Lay down, get some sleep. I'll go take a shower."

"Wait." Sam reached out and took hold of Dean's shirt. He pulled him in close and they found each other's mouths, the kiss deepening as they reconnected.

When they pulled apart, Sam's smile was tired but genuine. "We're good, Dean. Go get washed up before Bobby throws you in there."

Dean waggled his eyebrows a la Groucho Marx. "Maybe later I can give you a sponge bath."

Sam waggled back. "Sounds good." He blew out a tired breath as he sank back onto the pillows, already half-asleep as the door shut softly behind Dean.

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

The shower next door was still going when the bedroom door opened again.

The sound brought Sam wide awake and he lurched up in bed, reaching under the pillow for a non-existent weapon.

John stood in the doorway. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." He hesitated, then took a step in. "Can we talk?"

Uneasy, but not wanting to appear weak in front of his father - shot and unconscious three days or not – Sam nodded reluctantly. "Turn on the light, will you?"

"Sure." John fumbled for the light switch.

Sam winced when the overhead light came on.

"Headache?" John switched off the light and went to the lamp in the corner. A softer, more diffused light filled the room. "Better?"

Sam nodded and the two stared at each other, neither knowing how to begin.

"How are you?" John finally ventured.

"I'm okay." Sam's hand went to his head, touched the bandage. "You?"

John shrugged and gave him a faint smile. "I'm not possessed."

"Dad," Sam said. "I'm sorry – "

"Doesn't matter." John waved off his apology. "It's done now." There was an odd glint in his eyes. "I know you boys would never have left me like that if you'd known."

"No." Uncomfortable, Sam cocked an ear toward the shower and cursed inwardly. It was still going strong. Dean and his long freaking showers.

"What did you want to talk about, Dad? If this is about me and Dean – "

"No." John's face was red. "I don't want to talk about that with you."

"Then what?"

"I want you and Dean to come back," John said firmly. "We're a family. We should be together. And we still have a job to do."

"Our job is done, Dad. The demon is gone," Sam protested. "It'll take him years to claw his way out of Hell, if he ever does."

"Is that what you think?" Surprised, John gaped at him. "The demon's not gone, Sam."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"The son-of-a-bitch who rode me wasn't the demon that killed your mother," John said, a dark look on his face. "And not the one that's after you."

Sam shook his head, fear a cold lump in his stomach. "Dad . . . "

John came up to the bed, staring down intently at his son. Now that he was close, Sam could spell the stench of too much whiskey on the big man.

"Dad . . . " He scooted back against the headboard. "Wait for Dean, okay? He should be here."

John didn't even hear him, lost in the hell of the last few months. "The demon who took me was a soldier," he said, fingering the knife at his belt. "Bad enough on his own, but he took his orders from someone else."

Dim light or not, Sam's headache was ramping up. He listened for the shower but couldn't hear anything over the pounding in his head.

"We can get him now, the three of us," John said. "I got word that signs have been cropping up in Colorado. We need to head over there, as soon as you can travel." He looked his son over assessingly. "Tomorrow morning?"

Sam stared at his father in horrified fascination. "Colorado?"

"Outside Aurora. Instead of just waiting for him to show up, we take the fight to him." His gaze turned inward. "The demon who rode me took me there once. I know just where he'll be."

Sam shook his head. "Dad, no."

John's eyes focused on Sam again. "He won't be able to resist coming after you. We can catch him, kill him. Finish this thing once and for all."

"You want to use me as bait?" The word tasted bitter on Sam's tongue.

"It's the best way to bring him out. He's linked to you, solid. We can draw him in, hook him in a devil's trap. Make him bleed."

The slick shine in John's eyes made Sam feel sick. The air in the room was getting thin, sucked into the fire of his father's fanaticism. His breath hitched in his throat and he gave a little wheezing sound.

John's lip curled a little. "You don't have to be scared. We'll protect you."

"No!" Sam shook his head frantically. "I'm not doing it. I'm not going anywhere near him."

John seemed to be making an effort to hold onto his temper, but little spurts of rage curled around his words. "He killed your mother! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"I'm your son," Sam said, his lips feeling numb. "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"If you're my son, then act like it," John said harshly. He crowded forward over Sam and Sam had to fight not to shrink back. "This is your responsibility, Sam. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you."

"Dad? What the hell?"

An angry Dean stood in the open doorway, clad only in jeans, his chest still speckled with drops of water. "What are you doing in here? Bobby told you to wait until we were ready!"

John turned to face him and now Dean could see Sam, white-faced and looking like he was ready to collapse. He moved quickly into the room and shoved his father away from Sam. "What are you doing? Are you giving him shit about us being together?"

"No!" John's tone was indignant. "I didn't say one damned word about that!"

Dean didn't try to hide his disbelief. He sat down on the bed next to Sam and put a comforting arm around him. "You all right?"

Relieved beyond words, Sam leaned against him. "I told you, Dean, I told you – "

Dean put a finger across Sam's lips. "Sammy, calm down. What the hell is going on?"

"He wants to use me as - as bait."

Dean looked angrily at their father and then back at Sam. "Bait for what?"

Sam didn't want to say it. Had to say it. "The demon."

The word fell like a stone into the sudden quiet of the room. Dean stared at Sam, clearly wondering if his brother was off his head. "The demon's gone, Sammy," he said gently. "We sent that bastard back to Hell."

Sam looked at his father's grim face, then quickly back to the safety of his brother's. "Dad says the demon that took him isn't the one that killed Mom."

That hit Dean like a punch to the stomach. He looked at his father. John nodded.

Dean fumbled for a minute, then said, "It's okay, Sammy. It doesn't matter. We can handle him. We don't – " He stopped, backtracked. "What the hell do you mean, 'bait'?"

Before Sam could answer, John said roughly, "Sam doesn't want to kill the demon."

"You really think I don't want him dead?" Sam said disbelievingly. "After what he's done to our family? After what he's done to me? I want that bastard dead!"

"Then come with me to Colorado! That's the only way this thing ends!"

Dean and Sam spoke instantaneously

"Colorado?"

"I'm done hunting!"

Sam heard Dean's indrawn breath. He didn't dare look at him. He didn't know where those words had come from, but the moment they left his mouth, he knew they were the absolute truth.

He was done. With hunting, with the demon. With all of it.

"So you're just going to let the demon get away?" John said harshly. "You're going to let people continue to die when you can do something about it?"

"Quiet, Dad." Struggling to move past the shock of Sam's sudden announcement, Dean shot a glare at his father. "I'm still waiting to hear about you wanting to use Sam as bait to catch the demon."

Dean's face and voice were calm. Still, John stiffened and readied himself. "That thing killed your mother," he said defensively.

"So now I'm supposed to give him a shot at my brother?" Dean said in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what Sam's been through the last few months?"

"No more than what I've been through!" John growled. "When you left me tied to a demon and went waltzing off on your own!"

Guilt flushed over Dean's face and he glared at his father. "You asshole!"

John waved angrily at the both of them. "You really think the demon is just going to let you go? He'll never stop coming!"

Sam knew it didn't make any difference what he said, what argument he brought out. Nothing he'd ever wanted or said had ever mattered to the man standing before him. "I'm done arguing with you, Dad. And I'm done hunting."

"What about Dean?" John's mouth had an ugly twist. "You're willing to put him in that kind of danger?"

Sam went even whiter and Dean flashed an unfriendly grin at his father. "What, are you kidding? Now you're worried about me being in danger?" His laugh was sharp, bitter. "I don't know, maybe Sam's got something here."

John stared at his eldest and shook his head. "You'll never stop hunting, Dean. You love it. You always have."

"Yeah, I do. But I love him more." Dean looked at his brother. "You been thinking about this long?"

"I don't know. I guess." Sam was confused, shocked at Dean's ready acceptance of his announcement. "Didn't talk about it 'cause I thought I couldn't have it."

"You sure this is what you want?" Dean pressed him.

"Kind of a sudden decision, but yeah." Sam's smile was lopsided. "It's one of the few things I am sure of. That and you. I haven't thought much beyond that."

Ignoring their father's obvious discomfort, Dean leaned in and kissed Sam on the mouth. "We'll figure it out together, huh?"

There was a short silence as the boys looked at each other.

When John spoke, his voice was a deep, angry rumble. "He'll find you, Sam. And if you don't join him, he'll kill you."

Sam met his father's eyes. "If he kills me tomorrow, I'm still out."

"And if he kills Dean?"

Sam looked away.

"Damn it, Dean, you can't – " John began.

"Time to go, John." Bobby, shotgun held loosely in both hands, stood in the doorway.

John's expression darkened.

For a moment Dean thought he was going to fight it. Then his father's shoulders slumped in defeat and Dean knew it was over. His anger bled away, leaving nothing but pity, and love, for the man his father used to be.

"Damn it, Dad." Rising swiftly, Dean went to his father, pulling him into a hard hug. "Don't die, okay? Don't die."

John stood stiffly for a moment, then hugged Dean back, heart clenching tightly in his chest. Over Dean's shoulder, his eyes went to his youngest son. Sam's face was expressionless. He showed no sign of wanting to follow his brother's lead.

Trembling slightly, Dean released his father and stepped back to Sam. Sam reached out silently and the two boys clasped hands.

John looked at them and his lips quirked in a tired smile.

"I'll let you know when he's dead."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

At long last. Epilogue to follow. Sooner rather than later.


	18. EPILOGUE

Austin, Texas

January 24, 2002

Dishes clattered in the kitchen, accompanied by a radio and Sam's soft, slightly out-of-tune voice.

Inside the small utility room next to the kitchen, an aging washing machine started its second spin cycle, last stop before Sam hauled the clothes out back to dry on the clothesline. This time of year he was likely to have to stick them into the dryer for a few minutes at the end of the day anyway, but he liked the way their clothes smelled after hanging in the fresh air.

Out in the back yard, Rowdy barked furiously, warning the entire block that a stranger was in the neighborhood. The Alsatian next door replied quickly, followed by the Great Dane two houses down. That last kicked off a chorus of furious complaints from old Mrs. Christie's trio of Chihuahuas down the street.

Frowning, Sam looked out the window, relaxing when he saw it was only a strange dog that had Rowdy up in arms. When the stranger had passed by and the uproar settled a bit, he went down the hall and peeked in through the half-open bedroom door to check on his brother.

Still sleeping soundly, Dean didn't stir. Only the tip of his lightly freckled nose poked out from under the covers. The only sounds in the room were little snuffling snores and an occasional contented sigh.

Satisfied that all was well, Sam padded silently back to the kitchen.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Just after twelve, the smell of coffee wafted in through the bedroom door.

Dean's nose twitched and a sleepy green eye peered out from under the covers. With a muffled groan, he rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head under his pillow.

No longer bothering to be quiet, Sam came into the bedroom, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. He sat down beside the lump in the bed and nudged it.

"Coffee, Dean," he crooned. "Coooffffeeee." He took a sip and moaned appreciatively. "Mmmmmm."

The lump shifted. "g'way."

Sam took another noisy slurp, smacking his lips. "It's your favorite, Dean. Peel the Paint Off The Walls from Dunkin Donuts."

Dean's hand appeared from underneath the blankets, third finger extended, then retreated back under the warmth of the covers.

Unimpressed, Sam plucked the pillow off his brother's head and tossed it into a corner of the room.

Dean groaned. "Bitch." He smooshed his face into the wrinkled sheets.

"Come on," Sam said impatiently. "It's time to get your birthday going. We've got hash browns. And pancakes."

"It's cold," Dean whined.

"Wuss." Sam leaned in. "Bacon, Dean. Lots and lots of bacon."

There was a short silence.

"You suck."

"Yeah, well, you need a shower." Sam snickered. "You stink like sex."

"Whose fault is that?" Dean mumbled grumpily.

"Mine." Sam's tone was smug. "Okay, lazy ass, ten minutes and I'm giving the bacon to Rowdy." He gave Dean's ass a hefty slap and rose from the bed.

With a feral growl, Dean made a grab for him but Sam evaded him easily and bolted from the room, leaving the coffee on the bedside table. "Ten minutes!"

Alone, Dean briefly considered going back to sleep. Then the sound of Sam letting their big Rottweiler in the back door brought him to his feet. He downed the cooling coffee, barely pausing to breathe between gulps and headed for the bathroom.

After relieving himself, he stepped into the shower and stuck his head under the water for a couple of blissful minutes, then dumped a fat glob of herbal shampoo onto his head, humming with pleasure as he worked it through his short-cropped hair.

"Hey, you jerk, are you using my shampoo again?" Sam was a menacing shadow beyond the shower curtain.

Dean shot a quick glance at the nearly empty bottle of shampoo and stuck his head back under the water to rinse away the evidence. "Nope."

"You better not use it up."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch." Dean saw his brother's shadow moving furtively toward the toilet. "Hey! No pranking the birthday boy!"

Sam pulled back the shower curtain, grinning. "Birthday boy?"

"Well, it is my birthday." Dean motioned regally to his nether regions. "And I am a boy."

"Yeah, I noticed. . ." Sam stared down at Dean's cock. It started to plump up under his gaze and he ran his tongue over his lower lip.

Dean smirked. "See something you like, Sammy?"

Eyes glazing a little, Sam started to sway forward and -

BAM!

The bathroom door slammed open and Rowdy's black bulk burst into the room. With a wet whuffle, he shoved past Sam and stuck his massive head into the shower, giving Dean's naked thigh a friendly swipe with his tongue.

"Whoa!" Dean squawked. His hands darted down to protect the important parts. "Watch it!"

Laughing, Sam pulled the dog back from the tub and rubbed his head. "Hey, Rowdy boy. Are you hungry? Are you a hungry boy? How's about some bacon?"

Rowdy gave an enthusiastic bark, tail wagging furiously.

"Hey!" Alarmed, Dean turned off the water and grabbed the towel hanging over the shower rod. "Don't you give him my bacon, fucker!"

"Better hurry up, then." With a last look at Dean's manly bits, Sam left the bathroom, Rowdy chugging eagerly along behind him.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Hair still dripping, Dean hastily pulled on some cut-offs and a faded Bad Company t-shirt and shot into the kitchen just in time to see Rowdy skarfing down the last of a plate of eggs and bacon.

"Shit!" Dean threw himself down into a chair, glaring at Sam. "I can't believe you did that!"

Shrugging, Sam poured out a cup of coffee and put it on the table in front of his sulking brother. "Well, I did say ten minutes – " He burst out laughing. "Oh, man, I can't do it. You should see your face!" He went to the oven and pulled out a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes and plonked it down in front of Dean. "Eat up, birthday boy."

Scowling, Dean picked up a piece of crispy bacon and stuffed it into his mouth. "Think you're pretty funny, don't you?"

Sam dropped into the opposite chair. "I think I'm adorable." He reached out for a piece of Dean's bacon and nearly lost a finger to a quickly brandished fork.

"Hands off, Sammy." Keeping a cautious eye on his brother, Dean reached for the maple syrup and drowned his pancakes. "What other torture you got planned for me today?"

"Oh, nothing much." Sam pulled two tickets out of his pocket and tossed them across the table. "Just Kane."

Dean's mouth fell open and he snatched up the tickets. "Kane? How the – Sammy, these things are like gold!"

"KLBJ had a thing last week. Free concert tickets. I camped out on the phone all week trying to get through on that freaking contest line and finally got through on the last two tickets!"

Dean grinned. "Awesome!" He let Sam take the tickets back, rescuing them from a syrupy death, and shoved another forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Around the sloppy mouthful he asked, "Concert's not until 8 o'clock. What are we gonna do till then?"

Sam's mouth twitched. "Oh, I thought we'd take Rowdy over to the dog park, come home and have massive amounts of sex, and then go for barbecue before the concert."

Dean snorted with laughter and then started coughing, bits of pancake flying everywhere.

"Oh, shit!" Alarmed, Sam jumped up. "Dean, are you all right?"

Hacking up a piece of pancake, Dean coughed a couple more times, then waved a hovering Sam back to his seat. "I'm fine." He took a quick swallow of hot coffee and cleared his throat again. "Uh, yeah, dog park, sounds good. And the other, uh, stuff, yeah." He started eating again, eyeing Sam across the table.

Even with the rest of the day's delights dangling in front of him, Dean lingered over his meal. When he finally pushed his plate back with a satisfied sigh, Sam said, "Dog park?"

On the floor, Rowdy lifted his head, ears pricked hopefully.

Dean shook his head. "No."

Rowdy dropped his head to the floor with a disappointed sigh.

"No?"

"No." Dean's grin was frankly lecherous.

Sam fought back a smile. "What, then?"

"You wanna know?" Smirking, Dean ran his eyes over Sam's lanky frame. "You really wanna know what I want to do? Right now?"

"Uh – " Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Dean rose and strolled around the table. He pulled Sam up and drew him in close, sent a questing hand around to Sam's ass, licked at the spot under his little brother's left ear that he knew drove him crazy.

Eyes glazing over, Sam drew in a trembling breath. "Dean . . ."

"What I want – what I really, really want" - Dean Groucho'd his eyebrows - "is to see what's in that box in the spare room."

Sam's jaw dropped. Then he sputtered with laughter and, throwing a quick "Wait here!" over his shoulder, sprinted for the back of the house.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Sam carried the box into the kitchen and set it on the table, shoving Dean's breakfast dishes to the side. "Happy birthday, jerk!"

"Thanks, bitch!" Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully. Trying not to jump onto the present like a rabid wolverine, he said again to Sam. "Thanks, baby. Man, I love birthdays!"

"Don't thank me until you open it." Sam handed Dean a short-bladed knife and nudged him impatiently. "Come on, open it!"

Dean carefully slit open the box and looked inside. He drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, man. Awesome! A record player!" He lifted the turntable carefully out of the box and set it on the kitchen table, running reverent fingers over the burnished wood. "Oh, man."

Sam was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Do you like it?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean's smile was wide, infectious and absolutely sincere. "I love it!"

Grinning, Sam held out another package - square, lightweight and wrapped in screamingly cheerful Spongebob Squarepants wrapping paper.

Careful not to tear it - he loved the little yellow fucker - Dean peeled the paper away from the treasure inside.

Led Zeppelin's first album. Both album and cover in perfect condition.

"Holy crap!" Overwhelmed, Dean ran his fingers reverently over the embossed logo. "Sammy, this is – amazing. Thank you."

"Look inside!"

"What, more?" Dean peered inside the album cover and, with a questioning glance at Sam, pulled out the envelope nestled inside. Inside that was a gift certificate.

"Out of the Past. New and old albums," he read aloud.

"I knew you'd like the Zeppelin," Sam said smugly. "And they've got a ton of other stuff."

Dean carefully set the album down on top of the record player and lifted Sam off the floor in a fierce hug. "Thanks, Sam. Best birthday ever."

"Better than when Dad gave you the Impala?" Sam laughed at the scandalized expression on Dean's face. "Just kidding, man."

Dean shoved him. "Smart ass."

"You love my ass," Sam retorted. "Listen, let's go set it up." He gestured to the turntable. "It's got built-in speakers, but you can pick up some bigger ones later, if you want."

"Damn right I'll get big speakers," Dean said stoutly. "Blast your freaking ears out."

Once they had the player set up in the living room, Dean eased the new album out of its cover, set it onto the turntable, and placed the needle carefully onto the first track. As Robert Plant's distinctive vocals filled the room the two brothers bumped hips and dropped onto the tatty secondhand couch.

Sam groped for Dean's hand as the first track faded seamlessly into the second, and Dean dropped a light kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam nodded and pressed even closer, hazel eyes shining with pleasure at the success of his gift.

Presents hadn't played a big part in their life when they were growing up. On the road with their father, there hadn't been money for "extras". And even if there had been, there certainly hadn't been room in the Impala to haul anything beyond necessities.

Things were different now. They were both working and, after a tight first year, they were living, if not high on the hog, certainly better than they ever had before.

For Sam's birthday in May, Dean had given him a couple of bookcases and gift cards to several of Austin's new and used bookstores. Dizzy with the prospect of not just buying books but actually keeping them, Sam had taken his time browsing through the literary riches now open to him. It took him hours, almost an entire weekend, to settle on his first book - a worn, hardback copy of The Three Musketeers.

It looked a little lonely that first night on the bookshelf, but it was soon joined by The Last of the Mohicans, The Stand, a fat Dashiell Hammett compilation and several of Robert Heinlein's earlier works, which had Sam cackling in covetous glee for hours. The remainder of the gift cards had gone quickly after that and since then the original two bookcases had been joined by several more, all now stuffed full.

The album's second track ended. The third began.

Sam buried his face in Dean's neck. "I've got one more present for you."

"Sammy . . ."

Sam laid a finger across Dean's plush lips. "Quiet, birthday boy."

He pulled Dean up from the couch and led him unprotesting into their bedroom.

SUPNSUPNSUPN

Well past midnight - post- dog park, barbecue, Kane concert and truly massive amounts of hot sex - Sam woke with a sudden jerk. Trembling and slick with a cold sweat, he couldn't remember the dream that had woken him, but knew from experience that sleep was done with him for the night.

Fighting to bring his breathing back to a normal rhythm, he looked to the other side of the bed, fully expecting to see Dean looking back at him with anxious eyes, but the rest of the bed was empty.

"Dean?"

Pushing down a whisper of panic, he pulled on a pair of ragged sweat pants and hurried down the dark hall. Hearing the sound of cutlery scraping across china, he found Dean at the kitchen table, working on a piece of whipped cream-laden apple pie.

Relieved, and feeling stupid, Sam dropped into the chair opposite him. "Dude, how are you even eating that? I'm still stuffed full of barbecue!"

Dean forked up the last bite. "Never too full for pie, Sammy," he mumbled. Pastry crumbs sprayed across the table.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're a class act, bro."

"Ah, you love it, Sammy. I'm one sexy freakin' bitch," Dean said complacently. "And I'm the birthday boy."

"It's after midnight. Birthday's over."

"Nope," Dean disagreed. "It's my birthday till we wake up in the morning." He winked lewdly at Sam. "You know what that means, don't you? More birthday sex - oh, that reminds me, Bobby called."

Sam made a face. "Birthday sex reminds you of Bobby?"

Dean smacked his brother on the side of the head. "Ass. Bobby coming reminds me we need to have lots of sex before he gets here, 'cause we are not having sex while he's here."

Sam nodded, in complete agreement on that one. "Got it. No sex with Bobby in the house."

"He should roll in Saturday morning." Dean ran a finger over the plate, licked off the last of the whipped cream. "He wants us to take him to The Yellow Rose."

Sam gave him a pained look and Dean snickered. "Hey, just 'cause chicks don't float our boat doesn't mean we can't enjoy the scenery."

"Just keep your hands off the scenery." A little too casually, Sam asked, "Any news?"

Dean interpreted this correctly as Sam-speak for, "Is Dad okay?" and reached across the table to rub a reassuring thumb over his brother's hand. "Everything's fine. Dad checked in with him a few weeks ago."

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Is he still hunting the demon?"

Dean clocked a quick look at him, big brother radar starting to ping. They didn't usually talk about John and his ongoing hunt for their mother's killer. It brought up too many bad memories; memories they were working damned hard to keep in the past.

Before Dean could answer, Sam shook his head. "Never mind. Stupid question. Of course he is." He offered Dean a tentative smile. "It'll be good to see Bobby."

"Yeah." Dean stared at him. "I was thinking we'd take him out to the Quarries on Sunday morning, get in a little fishing."

"In January?"

"He lives in South Dakota, Sammy. January in Austin's gonna feel like summer to him."

"Yeah, I guess." Brow furrowed, Sam stared absently into space.

The pinging got louder. Dean's eyes narrowed. "Dude, what's up?"

Sam straightened, looking surprised and a little guilty. "What? Nothing."

"Are you upset about Bobby coming here? He'll make sure nobody follows him, Dad or anybody else."

"Dean, no," Sam protested. "I want to see him. It's been too long."

Dean studied him for a long moment. It had been a long time, but . . . "Nightmare?"

Flushing, Sam looked away.

"Oh, hell, no!" Dean got to his feet and rounded the table. He took Sam by the chin and forced the younger man to meet his eyes. "Let's try this again. Nightmare?"

Sam nodded, eyes shadowed. "Yeah. I don't remember what it was about, but – yeah."

Dean's mouth tightened. He'd begun to think, hope, that Sam's dreams were gone for good, driven away by their new, normal, life. "You said you'd let me know if you had any more," he said, suddenly suspicious. "You haven't been holding out on me, have you?"

"No, Dean. No. We promised no hiding stuff. I wouldn't do that." Shaken by the sudden sideways turn the night had taken, Sam said, voice trembling, "I just – I didn't want to fuck everything up. We were having such a great day. I would've told you."

Studying him, Dean knew Sam was telling the truth. There was no lie in Sam's face. Pain, fear, and frustration, but no lies. "I'm sorry."

Sam's nod was barely perceptible.

Wanting to let it go, but needing to ask, Dean said, "Do you think it was him?"

"No. Fuck, I don't know. How the hell would I know?" Frustrated, Sam started to get up.

Dean held on to him, kept him in the chair. "Hold on. It's not your fault. It's not like you can control your dreams."

"I know. I'm just – " Sam gestured helplessly. "Things are going so good. Why - " A rush of rage and pain washed over him. "Shit, why am I such a fucking freak!"

"Sam!" Dean snapped. "First of all, don't talk that way about my baby brother or I'll kick your ass!"

He waited until Sam nodded.

"Second, I just remembered, the last time you had a nightmare was on your birthday."

Sam's face went blank with surprise. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, birthdays."

"Huh."

Dean dug a little. "What is it about birthdays?"

"How the hell would I know?"

Dean gave him a look and Sam flushed. "I don't know." He grimaced, thinking back over the last couple of days. "Maybe - maybe they make me think too much."

"About what?"

"You. Me," Sam said reluctantly. "Our life, I guess."

"The small stuff, huh?" Dean gave him a teasing poke and Sam batted his hand away.

"Cut it out."

"Baby, we don't have to celebrate birthdays if you don't want," Dean offered. "It's no big deal."

Sam smiled wryly at Dean's proffered sacrifice, an obvious lie. "Nah." He sighed. "It's only been, what, eighteen months? I'll deal. This place is good, it's just - I don't know how long it's gonna last. I don't know what's gonna happen, if the demon is gonna find us, or hunters looking to blow me away. Or Dad . . . " He stopped, catching the quickly hidden pain on Dean's face. "Don't, Dean, it's okay, it is. I made my peace with it a while ago." He shrugged. "Mostly."

Knowing there was nothing to be said about that particular clusterfuck that hadn't been said way too many times before, Dean grasped Sam's hands. "None of that shit matters, Sammy," he said earnestly. "We don't know what's gonna happen. We could stay here another year, another five - we could be gone tomorrow. But while we're here, it's fucking good and we gotta take this for as long as we can get it. Just let the rest of that old shit go." He placed a soft kiss on Sam's knuckles. "Whatever happens, we'll handle it. You and me."

Sam nodded.

They sat quietly for a while. Sam staring into the middle distance; Dean watching him intently, knowing that Sam was worrying about more than outside forces working against them. Knowing from long familiarity the kind of self-doubt likely to be eating at him,

When Sam moved at last to get up, Dean didn't stop him. He watched as Sam picked up the plate and fork from the table and dumped them into the sink. Watched as he stared silently through the window over the sink into the darkness outside.

He rose and stood behind his little brother; stood close enough to touch him, but didn't. "One more thing, Sammy."

Sam didn't turn.

"Someday you're gonna get it," Dean said gently. "I'll just keep saying it until you do. I love you. Brother. Lover. Whatever. You're it for me."

Sam just listened, staring at his brother's reflection in the kitchen window.

"Listen to me, baby," Dean went on. " I'll never leave you, no matter what. And you know why? Cause there ain't no me without you." He slipped his arms around Sam and pulled him back tight against him, needing Sam to hear him, to believe him. "Sammy, there's nothing without you."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. Face working, he turned blindly into Dean's arms and the two clutched each other and held on tight. No more words needed, at least for now, they stood together; each safe in the arms of the only home they would ever need.

Brothers.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done. Holy crap. Thanks to all who've stayed with this story, throughout the long delays and broken promises. I hope that this ending does it for you. I hope it flows with the rest of the story. I'm a different writer than when I started, hopefully a little better.
> 
> I found out something important. From now on I am going to stick with fun stuff, angsty stuff, hunts and adventures. I still want to write Wincest, but I won't be writing any sexually explicit stories. Gonna have to go for a good "R" rating from now on. I found that it was taking away from the fun of the story. Good sex is just too damned hard to write!
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. I've got almost fifteen drabble challenges to catch up on now that this is in the can which I will start posting in the next day or so. God, it's good to be back. RL can suck it!


End file.
